


Story of a lifetime

by taralynden



Series: Story of a lifetime [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drama, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 103
Words: 252,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralynden/pseuds/taralynden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Great War every mech had a story. This is just one of them. This is Prowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: this story will contain adult themes, slash (mech/mech), non-con/rape, character death. It will also be **very** long. Individual chapter will contain specific content warnings.
> 
> A/N: I know this has been done before by others. I know it will be done again by others. This is my take on it. (originally published January 2010-December 2011)

The visored mech sat in the dark of the windowless room, turning the data crystal over in his fingers. Over and over. Thinking.

Ratchet had given it to him, but he was not certain why. What use was a file of Prowl's memories now? It could not be used as they had intended, Ratchet knew that, and Jazz already remembered as much as he could bear. Having those memories from Prowl's perspective would not ease this pain, this loneliness that no company could appease.

Even the questions he had pondered over all those vorns were now irrelevant. What did it matter anymore, with Prowl gone?

Over and over.

This chip contained Prowl's entire life, downloaded in those frantic moments as he had been failing before their optics, Ratchet helpless to stop the inevitable. He could import it into his own processor, could view it, could experience it, but it would not bring Prowl back to him.

He leaned back in his chair, staring upwards, fingers still busy. How tragic that a whole life could be reduced to one little data crystal. But the memory core was only part of what made a mech who he was. And the rest would never again be what it was.

Would it help to experience those events from Prowl's perspective? To fill in the gaps from when he had been away? To know for himself how Prowl had coped during the tumultuous times they had lived through?

He offlined his optics. They had known each other for such a short time in the grand scheme of things. Had never really had the chance to take the time to understand each other. Was this his chance, now it was too late? And should he take it?

Undecided, unsettled, he sat in silence and turned the crystal over and over again.


	2. Part 1: Welcome to the war, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, chapter 1 of 5

Prowl's doorwings felt like they had doubled in mass. The joints were aching but he firmly kept them in their regular rigidly formal position as he strode along the corridor, trying to look like he was perfectly composed rather than almost offline on his pedes. He was tempted to let them drop down a bit to reduce the strain, but that was not a good option: while others may not mind lapsing into juvenile body language occasionally, it was not something he could afford to do.

Two mechs approached from along the corridor and he wondered what they saw. Did they notice how his left doorwing was starting to tremble? Did they wonder where he had been before he boarded this ship? Tactical staff were fairly uncommon, after all. But they simply walked past, barely even acknowledging him, carrying on their conversation.

Turning into an empty hallway, he quickened his pace a little. He had to get back to the safe sanctuary of his quarters. The unfamiliarly long working shifts were taking their toll on him in ways he had never anticipated, and he was beginning to wonder if it was just a matter of time until his secrets were discovered. At that thought his tactical programming began calculating the odds, and he paused to press a hand against his head as it intensified the ache there.

Stumbling the last few steps and finally letting his doorwings slump as he unlocked the door, he slid inside and took the three steps across to his berth in the dark without even bothering to activate the lights. He just wanted to charge.

All but launching himself at the flat surface, he had a nanoclick to realise that something was wrong, and then he was being spun about and dropped painfully onto his back on the floor, his right doorwing crushed between him and the side of the berth, a heavy weight above him.

"Lights!" an unfamiliar voice demanded and he flinched as the first thing he saw was the barrel of a rifle pointed straight at his CPU. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"P-please!" Prowl gasped. "Got to... sit up..."

He could not yet get a good impression of the mech above him because of all the errors filling his HUD and the pain from his back, but he was gratified to see the rifle swing away and a black hand reach out to help him up. That hand gripped his wrist tightly and jerked him roughly up into a sitting position.

"There. Now, how'd you get the code to that door?"

Clearing the errors as best he could, he shook his head.

"I _live_ here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"You live here?" the stranger demanded. "Since when?"

"Twelve orns ago."

Looking up, he saw a mech of about his height with black and white colourings. On the whole his form was very nondescript, and Prowl could not quite make out what alt form he would take, but the visor covering his optics was distinctive - this was certainly no-one he had ever seen before.

"Slaggin' CB coulda tol'me." the stranger muttered irritably, then he was suddenly smiling broadly in a startlingly rapid change of mood, the rifle subspaced with a casual flick of his wrist. "Well, I guess we'd better start this over. M'name's Jazz."

"Prowl." he responded cautiously, wondering if this mech had a serious CPU glitch in his emotional programming to allow his mood to change that quickly and what to do if he did. "And you are in my room because...?"

" _Our_ room." Jazz corrected him. "This's been my room for a coupla centuries. Well, when I'm on-ship, anyway. Never had a roommate before, but I guess things're gettin' a bit tight wit'all the evacuations an' all. Pleased t'meetcha, Prowl."

Prowl felt the ping against his firewalls for an exchange of routine data, but was reluctant to oblige.

He was exhausted, his right doorwing was still sending insistent error messages, and this whole situation was surreal. He was vaguely aware that he was supposed to have a roommate - someone had mentioned it when he shifted in here - but if this was him then it was time to place a request for an urgent reallocation.

"Do you usually greet visitors in such a violent manner?"

"Aw come on, you startled me."

" _I_ startled _you_!"

"Well yeah." Jazz shrugged, as though it were self-evident. "I knew the door was locked when I went t'charge, an' then came online t'find ya all but fallin' on top o'me. You coulda been an assassin."

"In the middle of an Autobot battleship?" Prowl gaped at him, his processor starting to hurt even more as he tried to find any hint of logic in this bizarre conversation. "The Autobot _flagship_?"

"Sure. Why not? Hey, you okay?"

Prowl reached out a hand to brace himself against the side of the bunk then hauled himself unsteadily to his pedes.

"No I'm not 'okay'." he snapped irritably. "I wasn't expecting to be physically assaulted when I came back to my quarters to get some rest."

"I explained that."

"Your answer makes no sense, so it hardly qualifies as an explanation."

"What? Wait, where're ya goin'?"

"Elsewhere." Prowl replied, already wondering about that himself.

The administrator had been very clear that there was simply no other accommodation to be had at the moment which was why he was put here in the first place. But maybe one of the medics would let him rest in the repair bay for a few groons since he would have to go there about his doorwing anyway?

"I dunno that's such a good idea." Jazz declared, shifting remarkably quickly to block the way to the door.

Prowl stared at him in disbelief, his desire to be away from this clearly insane mech growing exponentially.

"And now you're holding me hostage?"

Jazz huffed, his smile flickering away.

"For the love of Primus, will ya drop the whole hostile bit for just a click or two?"

"Me? _You're_ the one being hostile, I'm just trying to leave."

"Yeah, but you're not even givin' me the chance to apologise. I'm not usually like this - gimme a chance!"

"Judging by your actions thus far, even remaining in your general vicinity is a hazardous prospect."

"Look..." Jazz began, stepping towards him.

He quickly stepped back.

"One more step and I'm calling security." he warned, hoping the bluff would work because he had too many errors piling up to even open a comm line at the moment.

To his relief Jazz backed off, raising his hands in a calming motion.

"Okay, okay, just listen for a click, okay? You're tired, I'm tired, an' I don't think either of us're ready t'make this any worse'n it already is. Why don't we just get some charge an' talk about it later, hey?"

"And how do I know you won't simply shoot me while I'm offline?" Prowl asked suspiciously.

"I'm not gonna shoot ya!"

"I remain unconvinced."

Jazz gave him a long frustrated look, then nodded.

"Alright. Here's what we'll do. You stay here, lock the door, an' I'll find somewhere else t'charge."

"Such as where? All of the quarters are at full capacity - that is precisely why we're both in here to start with."

"I've got friends who'll help out."

"Ones who aren't concerned that you may harm them?"

"I'm gettin' more'n a bit tired o'this." Jazz warned. "Are we doin' this or what?"

Prowl considered for a moment.

He truly was tired and sore, and the idea of leaving the room was unpleasant. Still, how could he charge if this odd mech might just return without warning and do who knew what?

"Locking the door hardly seems safe." he pointed out finally. "You know the access code."

"Then slaggin' well change it!" Jazz exploded in exasperation.

"Indeed I will." Prowl agreed.

"Fine!" Jazz snapped back.

And there it may have ended, except that at that moment his processor decided it had had more than enough and shut him down.

* * *

Jazz stared at the infuriating mech before him, wondering what was coming next.

All he wanted to do was charge, he _needed_ to charge, and this argument was bringing out the worst in him. The whole thing was ridiculous. He knew better than to attack someone on an Autobot ship - he had been in ops for long enough to know that mistakes like that could be fatal, and more than long enough to have gotten well past the jitters stage.

It was just that this had always been _his_ space. No matter what crew changes there were, this was his sanctuary. He might spend vorns infiltrating Decepticon bases or befriending crews of enemy cruisers or playing the part of a hard up Neutral, but when he walked in here he could drop all the acts.

Even on this ship he had to hold to a role. Here he was Jazz the supply mech, slightly cowardly, always shirking out of any direct combat role, always ready for a party. Not so hard a role to play, but still important if he was going to continue his real work.

Curveball was going to laugh his aft off when he heard about this, he noted sourly, and then would dress him down like a rookie for making a rookie mistake. And he deserved both, he supposed. Bad enough drawing a weapon on a comrade - and thank Primus Prowl did not seem to have recognised it as a contraband model - but then getting into this juvenile argument over charging arrangements.

He frowned as the clicks continued to pass and Prowl still neither moved nor spoke. Just what was going on here? He looked injured, which was not good - one doorwing held at a thoroughly unnatural angle, but he did not seem to be favouring it. In fact he did not seem aware of anything at all. Jazz started to ask if there was something wrong, then yelped and reached out instinctively as Prowl simply toppled forward.

"Prowl? Hey, come on, mech, snap out of it! Prowl?"

The other mech's optics were still lit up, but he was rigid in Jazz's arms and not responding at all. Had he glitched? Perfect, this was all he needed.

Groaning in dismay, he heaved the motionless frame up and onto the nearest of the two berths - there had always been two, though he had only ever used the one under the shelves - then tottered back to fall onto the other. Much as he wanted to rest, he knew what he had to do.


	3. Part 1: Welcome to the war, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, chapter 2 of 5

Prowl grimaced as he keyed in the wrong command for the third time in as many breems. He had been given a job to do, tedious and menial as it was, and he should be focused on it. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the weirdness of the previous rest shift.

He supposed now that it was rational for a mech to be startled if roused from charge in such a manner. True, Jazz's reaction had been excessive for as secure a location as an Autobot ship, but he had been off-ship very recently and perhaps had not had sufficient adjustment time. And he had immediately apologised for his actions.

More disturbing were his own responses. It was not logical to keep arguing with him.

Irritating he might have been, but he was an Autobot and thus must be trustworthy. In a cool, dispassionate analysis while he consumed his ration in the recreation room, he had concluded that he himself had been startled and that that reaction plus his weariness and the pain from his doorwing had culminated in a thoroughly inappropriate reaction. He would have to apologise.

He should have sought Jazz immediately upon rousing, and considered it seriously at the time, but there were still two anomalies of the encounter that he could not resolve. Firstly, he remembered - and had error logs as evidence of - his right doorwing being jarred out of alignment, yet it was now perfectly aligned and functional. Secondly, he did not remember going into charge. The very last thing he recalled was agreeing to change the lock code on the door, then there was nothing until he came online shortly before the start of his shift.

And there was a third anomaly, he mused as he completed the current sheet of data entry and moved onto the next. The first time he had entered the room, he had selected the berth on the right of the room. That selection had not been for any particular reason, but since then he had always used that same berth out of habit. This time, though, he had come out of recharge to find himself on the _other_ berth.

Had Jazz fixed his doorwing? Why could he not remember? When had the other mech left? It disturbed him not to know the answers to such simple questions, and his attempts to rationalise his way through them had taken all the spare time he had between rousing and going on shift, so he would now have to find Jazz later.

But what would he say to him? Had Jazz left, as agreed, or had he actually stayed? It was so frustrating not to know. And that frustration was translating into a distraction he was having trouble suppressing.

* * *

"So I hear you met Prowl."

Jazz settled in a chair and put his pedes up on the edge of Curveball's well-scuffed desk.

"You coulda warned me I had company."

"Seems you two got on just fine - I've never known you to tumble anyone that fast. Who'd've thought he'd be into it enough to need a medic when you were done?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Didn't tumble him, he glitched."

Curveball's attention sharpened.

"Glitched? How?"

"Processor froze up. Seemed to be some kind of programming loop. Clinker thought it was mostly because he was so drained and just shut him down into charge and filled up his tank. Not much more to it than that. Who is he, anyway?"

Curveball was still frowning and now tapped a finger against the arm of his chair thoughtfully.

"He's a new recruit. Refugee from that cruiser that crashed on the Tlali moon but he claims he was on his way to Ovacalix to enlist anyway."

"I didn't think we took on recruits until they'd been cleared?"

"Generally we don't, and technically we still haven't taken on this one. He's on probation while we look into him, but so far he's coming up clean."

"Why take the risk, though? Why not leave him to wait until he's been through the process?"

"His specialty's strategy. Tactical planning. Quickquadrant's been looking for a skilled apprentice for half the war so far, so stumbling over this mech's just what we needed."

Jazz joined his boss in frowning.

"A bit convenient then, isn't it?"

"More than a bit." Curveball agreed. "Quad's never made any secret of his search, and the skill tends to only be programmed into military mecha."

"So he's a defector, then?"

"Nope. Claims not, anyway. Says he was in hiding with a small group of Neutrals, but then got the chance when the cruiser stopped for fuel and he hopped a ride. Signing up was his choice."

"You want me to do some background checking?" Jazz asked.

"No, others are doing that. I've got something different for you."

Jazz put his feet down on the floor and leaned forward.

"A new mission? Something dangerous? _Please_ tell me I'm at least going to get to blow something up this time. That _is_ why you called me back from Cybertron, remember?"

"I remember, but you've got so many other skills too. And no, no explosives involved. You get to be 'Jazz' for a bit, actually. Fact is, I don't trust this Prowl mech. He's hiding something and I want to know what it is."

"You're assigning me as _custodian_ to him like he's a sparkling!"

"If you want to see it that way."

"You've gotta be kidding me. CB, he _hates_ me."

"How can he possibly hate you - he's only just met you. Besides, you always tell me how you can charm anyone. Here's your chance to prove it."

"No. Gimme somethin' else. I ain't doin' it."

"What? The great Meister backing away from a mission?"

"This isn't a mission, it's a joke."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Curveball asked, his tone light but his expression making his intention clear. "I need someone who can handle this if it starts going bad, someone who can do it quietly. The more Prowl's story checks out, the more likely it is he's just done a good job of covering his tracks. In only a few orns he's gotten himself into the tactical office. He could be here to assassinate Quad, or Prime, or Ratchet, or maybe just to muck up our plans, but I'm not letting him get away with it."

"An' if he keeps checkin' out and I don't see anythin'?"

"He won't." Curveball said confidently. "That mech's hiding something. I'm sure of it."

* * *

Reaching his quarters, he hesitated in the hallway. He looked about to confirm there was no-one else in sight, then knocked quietly. When nothing happened for nearly a breem, he keyed in his code and cautiously stepped inside. The room was empty.

Sighing in relief, he took a step towards the berth but then hesitated again. There were still two berths, just as there had always been, and while he was hoping Jazz would not be returning, perhaps it was more sensible to go for the berth on the left just in case. Sitting down on the side of it he was startled almost immediately back to his pedes by a knock at the door. In the time he had been aboard no-one had ever done that.

Feeling apprehensive he rose and walked over to the door, then opened it. Sure enough, there was Jazz.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

"Why?"

Jazz's lips twitched unhappily for a click, then settled back into a more neutral expression.

"I've spent ages talkin' to th' powers that be, an' there just ain't any other quarters right now. Not until we stop at Ovacalix. So..."

He trailed off and Prowl turned away, heading back to his berth.

"You could have simply entered."

"I thought you'd changed the code."

Actually it had only just occurred to him that he had neglected to do so.

"I have not."

"Oh. So that's it, then?"

"What is what?" Prowl frowned, sitting on the side of his berth.

Jazz moved to mirror him on the other berth.

"No hysterical warnings about calling security if I make a wrong move?"

"That hardly seems logical, when we are left with no choice. Besides, you did apologise last night. I will take you at your word."

Jazz looked at him in confusion.

"Just like that?"

"Would you _prefer_ it if I argued with you?" Prowl asked, surprised.

Jazz shook his head, then sighed and flopped back on his berth with a loud clang.

"I don't know what to expect from you. It's irritatin'."

"The feeling is entirely mutual." Prowl admitted, lying back rather more quietly.

There was silence for a moment, then Jazz snorted.

"Y'know, if this was a story, it'd probably be the setup for some torrid love affair."

"Thankfully reality does not work in such ways." Prowl responded, aghast at the idea of developing an intimate relationship with this bizarre mech. "In a few orns we will have different accommodations, and that will be that."

"Primus willing." Jazz muttered, then sent a command to the room's controls and doused the lights, so Prowl took it to be the end of their conversation.


	4. Part 1: Welcome to the war, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, chapter 3 of 5

If Prowl really was a counter-agent he was either in very deep cover or the best actor the Decepticons had ever recruited, Jazz concluded as he wandered through the vast storerooms in the _Ark_ 's lower holds.

Prowl did his work; he fuelled; he rested. He went to the firing range every third orn immediately after his shift and ran the same solo simulations without variation. No-one ever talked to him outside of work, he did not frequent any of the various recreational areas, and he never ever brought anyone back to share his berth.

Jazz paused by a rack and grabbed a tin of sealant without paying much attention to which one he selected, then paced distractedly onward, his attention still mostly on the quandary of his room mate and the mission he had been assigned.

Just what did Prowl have against a bit of company, anyway? A few orns earlier Jazz had had two consecutive free shifts and had ended up back in his quarters with one of the comms ensigns. They had only been cuddling when Prowl had entered, but the tactical specialist had looked horrified and had fled.

"He can't honestly be that prudish. What is he, a purist? Who can afford to stick to their own model-type with the war on? Particularly Praxians. Can't be more'n a handful've'em left anywhere, now." he grumbled to himself as he walked out into the hall, then noticed the tin he was holding. "Aw frag, wrong mix."

This whole thing was really starting to get to him, and just that fact was getting to him even more. It was ridiculous. He had been a special operations agent, infiltrator and saboteur for more than six centuries. Understanding how other mecha thought and worked was the difference between life and death in some of his missions, and he had always prided himself on being able to win over anyone he chose.

"Anyone who's not just a drone, anyway." he muttered bitterly, swapping the tins over, then pausing.

Maybe that was Prowl's secret? That he was just a particularly clever drone? He pondered that possibility for a moment, then snorted at his reflection in a nearby sheet of highly polished cybertonium.

"This really _is_ gettin' to me if I'm thinkin' things like _that_."

No, he sighed as he headed out again. It would have been a nice simple excuse, but the fact was Prowl was simply a tougher case to crack than others.

The way they had first met had set the mistrust between them, and the fact that Prowl's own recreational activities were so different from Jazz's own it made it difficult to reconcile. On an infiltration mission, with gaining Prowl's confidence as a major objective, he could have set up a personality less likely to clash with his target's. But here he was already known and his 'Jazz' persona had to remain intact.

There had to be a way, but he was running out of time. The _Ark_ was supposed to be stopping at Ovacalix in only six more orns. When they got there they would drop off the Neutrals and other passengers, and there would be enough space for the crew to have their own quarters again. Curveball would expect results by then, and for the sake of his reputation he had to have some.

* * *

Prowl keyed in the code to his quarters and peered through the opening cautiously.

Entering was always a nerve-wracking process, given the dismaying frequency and variety of Jazz's diversions. Sometimes the room was shaking with music played at volumes that would rapidly cause a need for medical attention; sometimes there were small groups indulging in illegal gambling activities; sometimes there were cubes of contraband high-grade scattered around.

The noisy ones were the easy ones to avoid, though. It was the silences that worried him more.

One time he had walked in to find Jazz cleaning a Decepticon laser rifle. His roommate clearly thought he had been quick enough to subspace the contraband item, swapping it with a far more innocuous common hand gun, but Prowl knew what he had seen.

Another time there had been a charged wire mesh on the floor which had left him shaking for groons afterwards. Jazz swore it was someone's prank on _him_ , but that was hardly reassuring: it suggested firstly that Jazz was involved in such activities, secondly that such things had happened in the past, and thirdly that they would occur again.

And then there had been the orn he had come off shift to find Jazz sharing his berth with one of the communications team.

Granted they had not been actively pleasuring each other at that precise moment, he allowed. But various ports and cords had been exposed, and they were holding each other in a highly intimate manner. He understood that it was a common enough activity, but his own experience was extremely limited and walking innocently into that energy field had made him realise that that was going to be a problem if he stayed here.

It was frustrating. On the one hand, the sooner they reached Ovacalix and dropped off the surplus Neutral civilians the sooner he could have his own quarters and not have to deal with any of this. But on the other hand, he still had no assurance that he would be remaining on the _Ark_ upon their arrival. His current position was a trial only, and he needed it to go on for long enough to allow him to prove his skills and commitment to the cause. His mentor had prepared him to spend vorns working towards eventually serving the Prime, and he understood why that plan would have been preferable, but this was such a unique chance to cut centuries off the planned timeframe to get to that point.

To avoid any more complications, it was sensible to assess the situation before entering. Today, seeing nothing more than Jazz lounging on his berth reading a datapad, he stepped inside and let the door close. All he had to do was keep out of involvement in _anything_ that could damage his reputation with Quickquadrant and wait out the off-duty time of the remaining three orns, and he would at least have given himself a strong chance to be retained as part of the _Ark_ 's crew.

"Heya Prowler. Good shift?"

"I have told you several times that I do not care for that extension to my given designation." he responded coolly, moving towards the end of his berth where he kept a small number of bookfiles.

They were texts his mentor had assigned him to read before departing, and since he would no longer have the benefit of his mentor's teachings he did what he could to learn from them himself.

" _I_ had a good shift." Jazz told him smugly, ignoring the comment. "Safestore got called to an administrators meeting and didn't trust me to manage all the incoming requisitions without help, so he gave me the shift off."

Prowl glanced across at his exasperating roommate.

"How can you be pleased that your supervisor has so little faith in you? Let alone that such a lack led to a reduction of service from your section."

Jazz grinned.

"Aw come on, lighten up. The ship's not gonna stall in space because some mech couldn't get a replacement battery for their hypercast console."

"Perhaps not, but the inability to efficiently retrieve replacement parts from the quartermaster can have far-reaching consequences in a combat situation."

Jazz snorted.

"In case y'haven't noticed, we _ain't_ in combat right now."

"That does not mean that it may not have occurred."

"But it didn't."

"But it _could_ have."

"But it _didn't_."

"But it..." Prowl began, then grimaced as his logic processor flashed up a warning. "I am not going to continue this absurd argument."

"Well good." Jazz nodded firmly.

Prowl hesitated, feeling as though he had somehow lost the debate and could not quite see how it had happened, then consciously ended that line of thought and turned to his current bookfile.

"So?" Jazz interrupted him after a few moments.

"So what?" he asked absently, then berated himself soundly for continuing what would inevitably turn out to be an equally inane conversation.

"So you didn't answer my question."

"You haven't asked one."

"Yeah I did."

Prowl huffed, looking up and reviewing the conversation until he found the only part of the exchange that could possibly qualify.

"My shift was in no way eventful."

Jazz hummed sympathetically.

"That bad, huh?"

"What?" he asked irritably, looking up.

"So bad y'don't even wanna talk about it?"

"It was not a bad shift."

"Oh, so it was good, then?"

"Jazz, why are you suddenly so fascinated with my activities?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Dunno."

Prowl felt his doorwings twitch in protest.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jazz shrugged again.

"I'm bored. Just wondered if you were too."

"Do I appear bored to you?"

Jazz cocked his head to the side, apparently giving the question serious consideration before responding.

"I dunno. Hard t'tell, wit'you."

"Well I'm not. I'm trying to read, then I need to recharge."

"Ah."

He waited a moment, but Jazz simply stared at him and eventually he could not bear it any longer.

"What do you mean 'ah'?"

"Dunno."

Frustrated, Prowl turned off the datapad and set it down.

"I would appreciate it if you would restrain yourself to asking questions only when you know why you are asking them."

"Why?"

"Yes."

"Nah, I mean, why should I?"

Prowl's fists clenched.

"Because it's illogical to ask questions when you do not know why you are asking them."

"Oh. Well... I guess. There's a problem there, though."

Prowl decided he was not going to ask. He set the recharger to the time period he wanted and checked the roster, then set several internal alerts to remind him of the multiple tasks he wanted to complete before his next scheduled shift.

Settling himself on the berth he took care not to scrape his sensitive doorwings against the berth, plugged in the recharger cable and loaded up the charging sequence. But at the step where he would normally activate it, he found his logic processor was working too hard on a problem to permit the process to continue.

Bringing up the query to view it he nearly snarled but managed to control himself he stared at the ceiling.

He was not going to ask. He was not going to. The answer would only prove to be illogical, and then he would not feel any better. He was not going to do this. It did not matter. He was not. He was _not_ going to give in.

On the other hand, he really did need to get some charge.

" _What_ problem?" he grated, conceding defeat rather than let his processors continue to spin.

Jazz had returned to reading his datafile and now looked surprised as he looked across at him.

"What?"

"What is the problem?"

"What problem?"

"The one you stated existed with my request."

Jazz seemed to need to think for a moment, then shifted with a small laugh.

"Oh _that_. You still thinkin' about that? I said that nearly a full groon ago now, mech. You been stewin' over that all that time?"

"Just answer the question. Please?"

"Well it's simple. Fact is, _I'm_ not logical."

Sighing, he reminded himself that he had known better than to ask and simply executed the command to fall into recharge before his logic processor could start a new query based on that response.


	5. Part 1: Welcome to the war, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, chapter 4 of 5

"So what have you got for me?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing conclusive?"

"No, _nothin'_." Jazz corrected, folding his arms. "The mech's cleaner'n Primus himself. Probably still has his activation oil still in his tank, he runs so clean."

"No-one's that clean." Curveball disputed.

Jazz leaned back in his chair.

"Oh yeah? The others find anythin' yet?"

Curveball shook his head.

"Not yet, but they will. They tracked him back to the planet he was picked up on and found some mecha who remembered him being there with a small group of Neutrals, but no-one who ever dealt with them directly. It's all just distance recognition. They haven't even dug up any of the names or models, other than Prowl's."

"Weird." Jazz frowned. "They try memory tracing?"

Curveball grunted.

"Problematic. Most of them are voltage junkies, don't have much longterm storage left. We did get some clear traces of him and a few others that proved they lived there for a few vorns and mostly kept to themselves, but no-one we've reached yet seems to know who any of the others were or where they went."

Jazz shook his head in frustration.

"I'm tellin' ya boss, I don't think he's anythin' more'n he says he is."

"When all the evidence points the other way?" Curveball challenged him.

"It looks sus," he agreed, "but it looks _too_ sus. If he really was what you're thinkin', he woulda done a better job o'hidin' it. Why get here'n be so discreet but leave a trail even an amateur could follow?"

"A trail that goes nowhere."

Jazz gave in. In some ways Curveball was completely right. No-one came from nowhere, and there were some really disturbing gaps in Prowl's backstory. Still, the longer this went on the more Jazz found himself believing Prowl was exactly what he claimed to be. It was just instinct, but instinct had saved him more often than logic or planning over the vorns, and he hated to ignore that guide.

"So whaddaya want me t'do? We've only got two orns left til we reach Ovacalix an' I've tried pretty much everythin' likely t'get a reaction, plus a few things that shouldn't that _did_."

"Maybe getting to Ovacalix is exactly what he wants." Curveball mused.

Jazz frowned.

"He's half-killin' himself tryin' t'prove he deserves a permanent place here so he doesn't get ditched there. Why would he wanna make all this effort when we're takin' him there anyway?"

Curveball shook his head irritably, then shot a piercing look at him.

"You still haven't tumbled him. Why?"

"For the love o'Primus." Jazz muttered, exasperated. "Just because I play up the _rep_ of a lech doesn't mean I feel the need t'act it out wit'everythin' that moves."

"It's one way to get him off-guard, and you're clever enough to use a bit of 'plug'n play' to go data diving."

"He won't go for it. I think he's a purist, an' I ain't Praxian."

Curveball smirked in obvious amusement.

"Shot down, eh? Something you neglected to report?"

Jazz just glared and Curveball thankfully let it drop, turning serious again.

"I don't care how you do it, but I want him deep-scanned. Prong him, drug him, whatever, but get in there and do a proper trace."

Jazz grimaced. Forced tracings left tracks that could be hard to explain away. That was fine if you were dealing with the enemy - there he had no qualms at all - but he had his doubts that Prowl fitted into that category. Serious doubts. On the other hand, he had a job to do and orders to get it done.

"Alright. I'll let ya know what I find."

"Ah, now _there's_ my favourite agent talking."

* * *

Quickquadrant looked up from the report and nodded approvingly.

"This is very good. A bit naive, but very good all the same. Where did you say you were stationed before?"

"I was previously in a Neutral enclave." Prowl responded, wishing inwardly that he had a better answer.

The original plan had involved him taking a few centuries to reach this point of standing in front of Prime's own Chief Tactical Officer, and by then he would have had an impeccable service record. Instead, due to chance, he was here far too early.

Perhaps it would be best if they dropped him off at Ovacalix after all? His mentor had explained to him that it would take time to build trust, especially given the gaps in his social knowledge, and there were sound reasons for him to avoid lengthy exposure to the kinds of radiation frequently present during deep space travel. Still, he found he was impatient. He wanted this opportunity so very much. This was what he had been built for, quite literally. He was designed to support the Autobots and the Prime, and he wanted to get on with it.

"I'm not sure Prime will accept that as a reference." Quickquadrant was frowning. "You were never involved in any Autobot group prior to that?"

"No sir."

"Well, I'll do what I can. But even if I do convince him, you would have to take a very junior role to begin with." he was warned. "I do need an administrator."

"I am willing to do whatever is needed to assist the cause, sir." Prowl assured him.

Quickquadrant looked at him a moment longer, then flicked a hand dismissively.

"I'll speak to the Prime. Until then, you're off duty."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

* * *

Jazz did not bother to wonder how Curveball had managed to get Prowl off duty for the remaining six joors prior to arriving at Ovacalix, nor did he argue when Safestore berated him for being so stupid as to contract a virus which would require him to spend a full orn confined to quarters while the anti-virus programming worked. He was not infected, of course, but it gave both him and Prowl a good excuse for privacy during the unpleasantness he was about to initiate.

It would have been a good deal easier if Prowl had been amenable to a bit of sharing: easier for both of them. Slipping a data feed into the 'wrong' port while 'distracted' was easily explained and easily forgotten. And if a firewall or three got breached too? Well that happened sometimes in the heat of the moment.

The second simplest solution was to get the target so overenergised his memory banks started stuttering. But Prowl never drank anything but mid-grade he had retrieved from the dispenser himself. He never made much of a fuss of it but he never varied either, and every time Jazz had successfully switched his cubes the energon had barely touched Prowl's lips before the other mech was tipping it into the waste unit and retrieving a fresh batch.

Of course if Prowl was the master-agent Curveball believed him to be, neither of those ploys would have been effective in the least. But to stop them working he would have to tip his hand and then Jazz's part became easier because he no longer had to pretend innocence for his own part in this either. Any open action on Prowl's part and all Jazz had to do was send a pulse signal to Curveball and Prowl would simply disappear into the ex-Con's custody until all the useful information was extracted. Then he would vanish permanently.

The problem, Jazz mused as he prepared to get started, was not what would happen if Prowl was a spy. It was what would happen if Curveball was _wrong_.

* * *

Prowl looked up as Jazz stirred fretfully on his berth and felt a twinge of sympathy for the irritating storesmech. He had never suffered through an anti-virus defragmenting, but he understood it could be even worse than the loss of a limb. He was tempted to ask if he could assist in any way but was not sure how Jazz would take the offer, given their awkward relationship.

A medtech named Clinker had been here when he arrived back from his abbreviated shift and had been pleased to see him. It was not wise for Jazz to be alone, it seemed, just in case assistance was needed. He would return to check on them later but until then Jazz should just try to rest and Prowl was to ensure there were no visitors. A straightforward task, given that he had never known anyone to come to this room uninvited in the entire time he had been on board.

"Primus." Jazz muttered, sitting up and flexing his hands as if trying to shake something off them. "Bet you're amused by all this, huh?"

"Hardly."

"Yeah, right." Jazz scoffed. "I deserve it, right? That's what you're thinkin'. Y'pro'ly think I caught it off some gutter-glitch with low morals'n even lower firewalls."

"I was thinking nothing of the sort. What are you doing?"

"Goin' for a walk. Need t'clear m'processor."

Prowl moved to block the doorway.

"The medic instructed that you were to remain here to rest."

Jazz was shaking, he noted, and quite unsteady on his pedes. Certainly in no fit state to be wandering the halls.

"I _been_ restin'." Jazz argued, tottering a little. "Had enough o'that for a bit."

"That is not a choice you are fit to make. You should return to your berth."

"An' why should I do what _you_ say?"

"Because you are ill, and I am not."

Jazz swayed even further and Prowl lunged to catch him as he toppled, but lost his own balance and they both crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He had a moment to notice that Jazz was no longer shaking and then found himself neatly incapacitated with a disturbingly quick use of energy binders around his wrists and ankles.

"What are you _doing_!" he cried as Jazz straddled him and began pulling a data wire out of his wrist.

"No more games." Jazz murmured. "Y'got two choices: y'can either tell me what I wanna know, or I'll dredge it outta ya."

Was this some weird side effect of the virus battling against the anti-virus? he wondered. But where had the restraints come from? And just what was he intending to do with that wire?

"Jazz, let me up. You're not well. I'll get some help..."

"Last chance." Jazz warned grimly. "Why're ya here?"

Prowl tried to link first to the repair bay, then to security, but could not make a connection. Blocked by some kind of jamming field? But how? And why?

"I'm here watching over you because you are ill..." he began.

"Wrong answer." Jazz snarled and snapped open a dataport on the inside of Prowl's elbow, then attached his own wire.


	6. Part 1: Welcome to the war, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, chapter 5 of 5

Jazz swore bitterly as he disconnected the trace and stared down at the mech below him. Prowl was whimpering in terror and pain, shivering, and it was his fault and there was not a great deal he could do to make it better.

Expecting resistance, he had slammed into the other mech's firewalls with every bit of force he could muster, simultaneously spreading the intrusion virus he had prepared earlier. In dealing with a trained operative that would have been only the first of several measures necessary to break through and would likely have not even done any temporary damage. But Prowl's firewalls had crashed completely at first contact, leaving him wide open and vulnerable to the ravages of the virus.

Startled at the simplicity of it, he had nonetheless delved straight into Prowl's memory core and assessed what he found.

The results now made him feel ill. Prowl was hiding something, certainly, but he was no counter agent. He was a sparkling. What he was so desperately trying to conceal was not Decepticon programming but his own inexperience.

He had not been avoiding high-grade from any moral standpoint: it had nasty side-effects on a sparkling's systems.

He did not disapprove of physical intimacy out of prudishness: he had probably never walked into that kind of energy field before; small wonder he had fled.

He was not programmed like a drone, he just did not dare get too friendly with anyone for fear of giving away clues to a secret that would have him immediately removed from the Autobot forces, regardless of how skilled he was.

And that was the key. His mentor had designed him specifically to counter the lack of tactical expertise on the Autobot side. Battle strategy was understandably only programmed into military models, and all of those were Decepticons. There were a few like Curveball and Kup who had defected, and others like Safestore and Quickquadrant who had had partial military upgrades prior to the war beginning, but otherwise the Autobots were at an overall disadvantage.

Prowl had been built, programmed and trained for the purpose of redressing some of that imbalance. He was supposed to work his way up through the ranks via a very carefully planned path coordinated by contacts his mentor had had at Ovacalix and in Iacon, keeping him mostly off the front line but allowing him to build up experience 'naturally' so that by the time he came to Prime's attention he had a good track record to explain his skills.

But he had been impatient to get started and, with his mentor away and news that one of those contacts had been killed in combat, he had decided to try starting the process himself by going to Ovacalix and enlisting. A plan that was entirely derailed by the crash of his transport on the Tlalian moon and the subsequent rescue by the crew of the Autobot flagship.

And now that he was here, he was trying desperately to fit in without the vorns of experience that he knew he still needed in order to prove himself.

Jazz rubbed at his face, feeling sickened by the whole mess.

Once he had the main points he had not delved much deeper, but he was left with impressions of Prowl's past that indicated he had never been treated like a normal sparkling. Joors of tedious lessons interspersed with weapons training; a rapid succession of programming and physical upgrades that should never have been attempted so relentlessly on a fully mature adult, let alone a sparkling; stern reprimands for any behaviour that could be attributed to his youth.

"An' then y'get the bad slaggin' luck t'get roomed wit'me." Jazz sighed, gently removing the restraints and subspacing them.

Anyone else would have dismissed Prowl's behaviour as a personality quirk and left it at that. Placed in almost any other room Curveball would not have taken such a personal interest in him. He would have been investigated, certainly - that was standard practice - but what had disturbed Curveball most were Jazz's own idle reports on his 'bizarre' behaviour off-duty. No, if he had been sharing a room with anyone else it would have been a simple matter of being dumped at Ovacalix to start at the bottom ranks, just as Prowl had originally planned. Instead, he had been assaulted and hacked by a mech he had been attempting to help.

"Never even _had_ a virus, have ya? Not til now, anyway."

He had applied the anti-virus as soon as he realised the truth, but both programs were still tearing through Prowl's programming and would continue to do so for a long while yet. All either of them could do was wait it out. Which at least gave him some time to consider what he should do.

* * *

"I got a confession t'make."

Prowl took a moment to focus on where Jazz was sitting on his own berth, looking troubled. He was not sure how long he had been online, was not sure when he had gone _offline_ , was simply aware that his whole frame was aching and his processors were sluggish.

"I ain't just a storesmech." Jazz continued. "I'm in special ops. Infiltration and sabotage specialist, though I've done most roles over the vorns. Almost no-one here knows it, but it's the truth."

Prowl stared at him, listening numbly, wondering vaguely why Jazz was explaining this to him.

"Mosta the reason I don't share quarters wit'anyone else is so they don't notice exactly when I come'n go. But another part of it's cause I ain't always in any fit state for comp'ny when I get back. When you came in that first orn an' broke me outta charge, I wasn't lyin' when I said I'd thought you were an assassin. Primus knows there've been others in the past."

Prowl frowned, starting to try to protest, but Jazz continued oblivious.

"CB thought it was funny, not warnin' me I'd been assigned a roommate when he debriefed me. If he had, things mighta been different. Who knows. But he didn't, an' I overreacted, an' things got outta control. He thought you were a Con spy, an' when he couldn't track you back more'n a few vorns, he got convinced of it."

Prowl tried to sit up in alarm, but then found he could not move. Jazz looked at him sympathetically.

"Sorry. It'll wear off in another groon or so, but until then all y'can do is listen. It's a nasty bit o'code, designed t'keep Con prisoners quiet while we threaten'em wit'whatever we have to t'get'em t'confess. Prime doesn't know we use it, an' wouldn't allow it if he did, but it doesn't leave a mark an' it gets the results he wants so he's learned not t'ask too many questions. It's better'n what the Cons use on our lot, but it's still not a lotta fun. Know that m'self. CB thinks it's best we all know what it's like t'be on the receivin' end, so... yeah. Anyway."

Jazz trailed off and was silent for a long moment before continuing.

"Everythin' else was bringin' up blanks, so I got ordered t'hack ya. I ain't proud of it - what I did woulda got me deactivated back on Cybertron before the war. But that was before the war. Things're diff'rent now. And if y' _had_ been a spy, it woulda been justified. Problem is, you're not. Problem is, y'ain't even an adult."

If he could have, Prowl would have shrunk away or protested or begged. But all he could do was numbly watch.

"I should dob ya in." Jazz sighed. "Bad enough anyone at all's gotta get mixed up in this pit of an existence, but a sparkling? Primus help us, y'shouldn't even be in _space_ yet. Let alone on a battle cruiser.

"But you're diff'rent, aren't ya? Sendin' ya back to the camps'd be cruel. You'd be bored outta y'processor wit'all the stuff's been crammed into y'head, an' none of'em'd understand. An' the fact is, we _do_ need mechs wit'your skills. Quad's good, but the assistants just can't keep up with him. Not their fault, they just don't function that way. But you do, don't ya?"

The visored mech looked down at his hands.

"There ain't much I can do t'make up for what I did to ya." he admitted. "But I thought I'd start by tellin' ya the truth.

"I _coulda_ wiped those mem'ries an' left ya none the wiser. It woulda left traces, but since you ain't likely to go runnin' to a medic for a CPU scan that might give away your age it woulda been safe enough for me.

"I _coulda_ lied to ya an' said it was the virus gettin' holda me an' makin' me do stuff I shouldn't. You wouldn'ta known any better, would ya?

"Primus below, I coulda even just abandoned ya here. You couldn'ta told anyone, 'specially since y'didn't know what I did, an' even if y'did no-one woulda believed ya because it' too ridiculous. Far as they all know, I'm a supply mech: I find the stuff we need an' barter for it, an' get it back here. They'd've locked you up for a processor overhaul an' counselling."

He hesitated, then slumped back against the wall.

"Fact is, I'm feelin' guilty. I wasn't convinced CB was right about this, but I went ahead with it. Had to, really. This ain't a democracy - I get my orders, I follow'em. But I coulda found another way. Or we coulda just dropped ya at Ovacalix an' left ya under surveillance. We didn't do that. I hacked ya.

"An'now y'gotta be wonderin' what comes next. Well, that's up to you."

Jazz looked up, his expression set.

"You know who an' what I am. You could make enough of a fuss t'out me, though only by givin' up your own secret. But there's another way. If y'let me, I can help ya. I can see y'stay on board, an' can help you fit in better.

"I know the idea's crazy, 'specially after what I did, but then mechs've been sayin' that about me for vorns an' I'm still okay. We do need someone to support Quad, an' your whole existence is based on doin' just that. An' CB'll support you. Once he knows the truth about your past, he'll know you can't be a double agent. You'll be one o'the very few mecha on board he actually trusts. He doesn't even trust _me_ an' I've been workin' for him for more'n half a millenium.

"Does mean I'll have t'tell him 'bout your age, but it doesn't have t'be in detail. All he's gotta know is that you're still below consent an' what your mentor had planned for you."

He paused as if reviewing everything he had just said, then nodded to himself.

"Anyway, there's nothin' more t'say til that wears off, so you just sit there an' think about it, an' let me know later. I'll let ya think in peace."

And with that, he settled down and plugged into his recharger to get some rest.

* * *

_Epilogue_

The door opened and a familiar form walked in.

"So?" Jazz asked.

Prowl stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"I've been appointed to a position of junior administrative aide."

"See. Told ya."

Prowl shook his head slightly and moved to sit on the side of the berth.

"What did you tell Curveball?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Just what he needed t'know. Nothin' more. How're ya feelin'?"

"Still tired. But the ache is diminishing."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully, then nodded towards a cube of energon on the shelf at the end of the room.

"Try that."

Prowl looked at him suspiciously and Jazz sighed.

"If I was gonna try t'poison ya, mech, it woulda happened by now. An' I wouldn't be so obvious about it."

The tactician grunted but rose and picked up the cube.

"It's a zinc an'iron mix." Jazz explained when he saw him hesitate again. "Good for shock an' fatigue."

"And recommended for sparklings." Prowl added wryly, finally sipping at it.

"Really?" Jazz asked innocently. "Never had one, so I wouldn't know.

"Anyway, it just so happens that they've got an oversupply here so I cut a deal to get half a storeroom full of it at a really good rate. Got a bit of a chewin' out from Safestore who's complainin' we'll never use it all up, but I figured it was a good investment. We'll probably have to add it to the main tanks for a bit rather'n risk it destabilisin' from keepin' it past its use-by date, but hey: a bit of extra sweetness for awhile ain't gonna hurt anyone, right?"

"How is it that the crew has never noticed how manipulative you are?" Prowl asked, moving back to the berth with the cube.

"Guess they just aren't lookin' right." Jazz shrugged, then raised his own cube in salute. "Welcome aboard, Autobot Prowl."

An' here's hopin' you survive long enough t'do what you plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1.


	7. Part 2: A first time for everything, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2, chapter 1 of 4

Life aboard an Autobot cruiser was not what Prowl had imagined it would be.

He had expected to find serious, dedicated soldiers, rushing to defend against the Decepticons wherever they appeared. Instead they seemed to be constantly on the move with nothing at all for most of the crew to do but fill time. There was never any particular reason given for their travels; no explanation of where they were, nor of where they were headed next.

He could appreciate that there were likely security issues around every action taken, but the result of this lack of communication was that mecha got bored. And bored mecha got into trouble. And this had become his personal responsibility to control.

He had been more than a little stunned when shortly after the _Ark_ departed from Ovacalix he was given the role of determining appropriate punishments for the unruly behaviour. It was obviously more a duty for the security forces than the tactical office, but it was also an honour and a sign that his superiors already had confidence in him.

Or was it? Jazz had not thought so.

"Well that's a new record. Usually they let a new mech settle in for a bit before settin' him up for everyone on board t'hate him."

It seemed that this was the least appreciated role on the ship and was passed from section to section at the earliest opportunity.

No-one liked to be the one who had to stop the parties, to be the killjoy, to interrupt the games. And by games, they generally meant the vast prank war that seemed to be in full swing whenever the real war was not there to interrupt it. Not everyone aboard was involved, but the crew were quicker named by the exceptions than by the culprits.

Jazz saw no harm in it, so long as he did not get caught, and had tried to get Prowl involved too but with no success. The idea of deliberately breaking rules _just for the fun of it_ , of wasting precious resources and leaving comrades in embarrassing situations, of disrupting routines and distracting mecha trying to carry out their on duty tasks... none of it appealed in the least.

Everyone had expected him to either give up quickly in exasperation or palm it off on the very next new recruit in disgust. That expectation alone would have given him the impetus to hold on to it, just to prove them wrong, but aside from that it truly was a way to prove his integrity and dedication, and he intended to make the most of it.

He had now held the role for almost five vorns, twice as long as the previous record, and he was happy to continue with it until he had satisfied Quickquadrant that he was ready for more appropriate tasks.

* * *

Jazz watched from a rowdy table in the corner as Prowl retrieved his energon ration and then voluntarily joined a small group on the far side of the room. Much of his original awkwardness had gone: though he remained uncomfortable in many ordinary situations, he had learned by rote and practice to simulate the appropriate behaviour.

All that messed up training and upgrading his mentor had given him must have crushed his emotica programming while it was still initialising, Jazz had concluded. Upgrades were supposed to be done slowly, over decades, not rushed through as fast as the parts could be made. If he ever got his hands on that mech, they would be having a very serious talk about the mistreatment of newlings. Not that it was likely he would get the chance to have that chat: Prowl would not even tell him his mentor's name or model-type, and Jazz had not retrieved that information during the hack.

It really had been an interesting couple of vorns since that trip to Ovacalix. By chance his own work had been mostly based nearby, so he had never been away for more than a few orns at a time. That meant he was usually around to answer Prowl's questions, and the mech certainly had enough of those.

Prowl knew details of political and military history that Jazz could not have quoted, in spite of having been personally involved in some of the events, but it was all factual knowledge: how many casualties, how many cities lost, end results of decisions as though they had been clear cut at the time. He was more likely to ask why some mecha spoke with different accents, or why the medical script was so different to normal text, or why mechs prayed to Primus.

That last one had been very hard to explain, given Prowl's pragmatism and literal nature: he could not grasp the concept of a deity at all, and when he finally agreed to accept it without understanding it he then wanted to know why no-one simply asked Primus to end the war if he were that powerful. If all that was needed was faith, and enough mecha believed, then surely there would be a response? When Jazz had tried to protest that it did not work that way, Prowl had refused to listen any more and had changed the subject.

Jazz could not recall a time when he had not known of Primus, even if he was not particularly devout in his beliefs. Could Prowl's pre-programming really have been screwed up that badly?

"Hey Jazz!" Spotcheck nudged him. "That's the signal. You've got the stuff, right?"

He pulled his gaze away from his roommate - secure enough behind his visor, knowing his friend could not be sure where he had been looking - and saw two others lingering by the door.

"Yeah, everything's ready."

"So come on then."

"Okay, okay, take it easy. We don't wanna look suspicious, right?"

"Aw you worry too much. Come on."

Seeing Prowl now in discussion with a group from the security team, he smiled faintly. Prowl hated socialising, but he was getting better at it. And him being occupied like this made it the perfect time for others to go have some fun.

* * *

"And when he came out," Squareset continued, "his pedes had turned blue!"

The others at the table laughed at the joke's punchline and Prowl smiled along with them a little, but in truth he had no idea what it meant or why it should be funny. He debated briefly whether it was worth asking Jazz about, then decided against it. The mech seemed to struggle to explain quite why a joke was funny and quickly lost patience with trying when Prowl failed to see the humour even after a detailed explanation.

Jazz had insisted he spend at least a groon each orn on socialising, and he did. Down to the last click on his chronometer. Then he could leave for the quieter surroundings of his quarters.

To be fair he should admit that the regular interaction had made him more comfortable with the crew, and they seemed more comfortable around him now that he was not ignoring them. It was not his favoured way to pass the time, but it raised questions for him to ask Jazz about and those answers - while often frustratingly illogical - smoothed things over even further.

Sometimes he even managed to hold his own in a conversation, so long as the topic was strategy or military history. Today's consideration of the system they were travelling through had been quite enjoyable until it devolved into this tiresome exchange of apparently humorous anecdotes.

Almost sighing aloud in relief as his chronometer announced that he could leave, he rose and excused himself.

The others barely glanced at him as he left, and that suited him just fine. In spite of Jazz's insistence that it was unhealthy for him to be alone all the time, he had no interest in making friends. Creating emotional attachments could only cause problems when he had to discipline them, and he would prefer to avoid those complications.

Besides, friends would expect him to spend time with them, and he still needed plenty of private time to read. The _Ark_ 's databanks were full of information, and he was absorbing it as quickly as he could. The more he knew, the better he understood the context, the more effective he could be.

He was just considering stopping by the archival repository for some fresh material on the construction of Ovacalix when a message popped up on his HUD telling him he was required to report to Topnotch, one of the security lieutenants.

He grimaced, turning towards the accommodation quarter and moving a little quicker. There were barely two groons left until the designated time, leaving him no time for his usual recharge period. A short nap would have to do.

* * *

Metal scraped against metal in the empty corridor as the tight-fitting piece was set into place. That job done, the conversation from before continued.

"He's a menace."

"Who? Prowl? Nah, just dedicated to the job."

"Then they'd better hurry up and find him a different job!"

"What was that?"

The four mechs froze in place, all listening carefully, then one of them shook his head.

"Never mind. Guess I'm just jittery. Pass me that screwdriver?"

Jazz leaned back to admire their work. A simply beautiful effort: elegant, efficient and well worth the trouble that would stem from it. The officers and security staff would see it differently, of course, but some mecha took things far too seriously at times.

"What I can't figure out is how he hasn't caught _you_ yet." Twinshaft grumbled. "I mean you're practically living in his lap."

"Maybe that's it." Escalate grinned. "A bit of berthmate bribery?"

"Don't think I haven't tried, but he's just not interested. Nope, I've just been lucky."

"Lucky." Spotcheck snorted. "Of course. If there's one lucky mech on this ship, it's Jazz."

"That's right." Jazz smiled at him sunnily.

"One of these days they're going to shove a rifle in your hands and send you out to fight like the rest of us." Twinshaft teased. "We'll see how lucky you are then."

"Nah. They know I hide out when it gets rough, but they also know I know where t'get stuff they want. They need me."

Escalate reached between them, carefully setting the trigger.

"There. Now remember: Spyglass's getting the footage so all you have to do is make sure you're busy when it happens and we should all be fine."

"We'd be _more_ fine if someone could find a way to keep Prowl from interfering." Spotcheck pointed out.

Jazz slung a friendly arm around the other mech's shoulder.

"Mech, if I knew how to do that I'd be gettin' away wit' _way_ more'n a simple paint drop."


	8. Part 2: A first time for everything, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2, chapter 2 of 4

Topnotch's instructions were brief and his tone terse. Ultra Virex, one of Prime's commanders, was aboard for a strategy briefing; his security lieutenant wanted an orientation tour, and Prowl was to oblige him.

Quite why that task should be Prowl's responsibility and not the duty of someone in the security corps was not explained, nor why the usually professional Topnotch glared at the seemingly affable Deltaray throughout the introductions. Some form of jealousy between the two security mechs, he wondered, leading his guest out into the corridor.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to see first?"

"How about the route between Prime's office and the guest quarters, then the recreational zones?" Deltaray suggested. "If there's going to be an attack, those are the most likely areas."

Prowl opened his mouth to contend that the _Ark_ was perfectly safe, then hesitated as he considered the increasingly creative rash of pranks. Perhaps there was no life-threatening danger but Prime would not like to have one of his visiting commanders set upon.

"Indeed." he agreed. "This way, please."

* * *

"I don't slagging believe it." Twinshaft grumbled, kicking over a pile of precariously stacked crates in frustration.

"Hey, watch it." Jazz complained. "I have to have those ready for the pickup tomorrow."

"Who tipped him off?" Escalate grumbled. "Someone must've, otherwise how did he know?"

"If someone tipped him off, he would've called for one of us by now." Spyglass pointed out. "He never wastes any time if he knows who's involved."

"She's got a point." Spotcheck agreed. "Still, I don't see how he saw it. They were all the way down the other end of the corridor when he stopped."

"Maybe we left something lying around?" Jazz suggested.

Actually, he was curious about it himself.

He knew for a fact they had covered their tracks. There had been not so much as a micron of paint spilt, and he had personally accounted for all the tools. The trigger plate had been carefully scuffed to look exactly like all the floorplates around it and the container filled with paint had been well concealed behind the maintenance tube - completely hidden unless you were practically beneath it, and then you had to be looking up.

Besides, Prowl had not looked directly at the trap. He had simply stopped in place and declared that 'something' was wrong, then had cautiously made his way along the corridor until he spotted it.

Spyglass was perfectly right. If he had known what kind of prank had been planned, or who had been involved, he would have been far more direct. Subtlety was not his style.

"Well however he did it, he's not going to figure out _this_ one." Twinshaft swore. "Now here's what I've got in mind..."

* * *

Prowl had had a busy day after discovering the paint prank in the corridor. The culprits remained at large in spite of all his efforts, but in his determination to see the ship cleared of any other such hazards he had found plenty of other things to occupy his time. There were definitely too many mechs with not enough to occupy their time aboard this craft.

Pleased with himself, he was just double-checking his work on the last of the reports when the door to his office opened. He was not expecting anyone and he was particularly surprised when he saw it was Deltaray.

"Is there something we didn't cover earlier?" he asked, confused.

"No everything's fine. I thought you were about to go off shift and wondered if you might like to join me for a cube or two."

"I would be pleased to." he smiled at the lieutenant, quickly logging out of his terminal and checking that all of the reports had been cleared from his work tray.

The corridors were busy for the change of shift, and not for the first time Prowl mused that it left the ship vulnerable. If there was ever an attack at the moment the shifts were changing there would be chaos. He had made a recommendation that the shift changes be staggered but so far it had not been approved.

Deltaray headed straight into the closest recreation room, and Prowl followed with a grimace: he usually frequented the fuelling room on the far side of the deck since it was quieter. Looking for somewhere to sit there initially appeared to be no options but Deltaray spotted some spare spaces in one corner where a group of frontline warriors had just settled.

Getting into there was more than a little awkward and he ended up having to pull his right doorwing awkwardly flat along his back since there no space where the two walls met. It was uncomfortable, but it was unlikely to be for long so he waved off Deltaray's query of concern as the lieutenant squeezed in beside him pressing up against his left side a little closer than he would normally prefer, his back occasionally brushing Prowl's left doorwing.

They ended up drinking their energon in near silence as any attempt at conversation was drowned out by the rowdy group next to them. It gave him a chance to sit and observe others in the room: some in particular that he suspected were up to no good, and several were easily quelled just by realising he was watching them.

Perhaps he should make the effort to visit the various rec rooms more often, rather than always going to the same one? Jazz would surely approve: he was forever telling Prowl he needed to be a little more spontaneous, less rigidly predictable. He frowned. Just what was wrong with predictability, anyway?

His thoughts returned to his companion as the large group near them headed off to the firing range to settle a bet, and Deltaray shifted out just a fraction.

"Whew. It's busy round here, isn't it?"

"At times." Prowl agreed. "It will calm down now. Much of the crew have their charging period over the next few joors."

"Right. Makes sense. Still, there're plenty of diversions here too."

"Indeed." Prowl nodded, thinking wearily of the endless pranks.

"Back on the _Isolantix_ it's quieter. I think the rowdiest it gets is when we have the ship-wide rounds of Overlord."

Prowl looked at him in surprise. He had played Overlord with his mentor before joining the Autobots, but had not even thought of it since then. It had been a training tool to teach him to use his tactical programming; he had never even thought of it as a recreational pursuit.

"You play strategy games?"

"Sure. Keeps the processor working, right? Why, do you play?"

"I have a board, yes." Prowl confessed slowly. "But it has been awhile since I used it."

"Well I'd love a game. I'd go easy on ya."

That last was said with a sly grin which Prowl was not sure how to interpret, but before he could respond, Deltaray shrugged.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for your good work today."

"It was nothing remarkable. It would have been awful if your commander had been caught out by that unpleasantness."

Deltaray laughed. A friendly and welcoming sound, Prowl observed absently.

"Or worse, Prime himself. But how in the name of Primus did you know there was something there? I didn't see anything. What tipped you off?"

"The corridor was empty."

"I don't follow."

"At any normal time there should have been at least a few mecha moving between stations or simply there to gawk at the visitors. But there was no-one at all. It was suspicious."

" _Very_ good." the lieutenant approved, slapping him on the thigh. "Are you sure you shouldn't be working for the security corps rather than tactical?"

The touch was friendly, lingering a little longer than was strictly necessary. Strangely, he found himself wishing it had been longer still and wondered why.

"No." he responded after a moment, hoping his distraction had not been noted. "This is merely an interim position for me. It's good experience for noting details in tactical planning that might otherwise be overlooked."

"Well, whoever gets you will be very lucky, I'm sure. Another drink?"

"Actually I should be heading back to the berth..."

The smirk that crossed Deltaray's face made his engine rev involuntarily, but then the expression was gone and the lieutenant was professional again.

"Perhaps tomorrow then. See you at your quarters after shift?"

"My quarters?" Prowl asked, confused.

"Yes. You were going to give me a game?"

"Oh, of course. Yes. I shall see you then."


	9. Part 2: A first time for everything, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2, chapter 3 of 4

"Calm down."

"I'll have to cancel. I'll have to... But I can't. I've already said yes."

"Prowl, it's okay."

"But what if he guesses?" he agonised. "What if I say something I shouldn't? What if he thinks I'm saying something I'm not? I've never _done_ this."

Jazz shook his head, wishing he had never even started with the teasing.

From the conversation Prowl had just relayed Deltaray was certainly flirting with him - shipwide _boardgame_ competitions on a battle cruiser? laying it on a bit thick, there - but Jazz should have guessed Prowl would panic over it when he realised. Should have raised it a little more tactfully than asking if Prowl wanted him to scrounge up some high-grade for the upcoming rendezvous.

"You've been managing just fine."

"But I didn't know that _that_ was why he asked to come back here!"

"And maybe it isn't." Jazz pointed out. "You were the one who told him that you had a game board here, right? It could be completely innocent."

"You didn't think so half a breem ago."

"Yeah well my mind's in the gutter more often'n not, you know that."

"It doesn't mean you're _wrong_. I never even _thought_ of it until you suggested it, and now I think about it there's so much evidence..."

"Evidence?" Jazz echoed, bemused.

Prowl flicked a hand agitatedly.

"The way he touches me."

Jazz struggled for several long clicks to find a way to respond to that without upsetting Prowl further, a little disturbed to find that he was starting to feel protective over the whole issue. Mildly jealous, even. Just what had the smarmy security bot been doing to innocent young Prowl?

"Can't'a been too inappropriate if it hasn't tipped you off so far." he managed finally, wondering if he sounded as strained as he felt.

"But what's appropriate?" Prowl fretted. "He doesn't know the truth, so he'll think I'm ready for this when I'm not."

"No reason why you shouldn't be." Jazz pointed out generously. "Y'ain't _that_ young, an' you've had all your upgrades. If you don't want to then that's one thing, but there's no reason why you can't if you do."

"But I've never... What if he can tell?"

"Lots o'reasons why mechs wait, age doesn't usually come into it. Do you _want_ to, Prowler?"

He tacked the nickname on at the end as a joke to detract from the intensity of his question. This was a ridiculous time to be realising his own attraction to the Praxian, and not at all welcome for either of them.

Prowl considered for a long time, his doorwings flicking agitatedly, then he looked up.

"Everyone must have a first time sometime, right?"

Jazz forced a smile onto his face, making a deliberate decision not to interfere. No matter how tempted he was. This was none of his business.

"Right."

* * *

Deltaray leaned back in the only chair, looking at him across the board.

"You're nervous tonight. Did I do something wrong?"

Prowl shook his head, wishing he had thought to find another chair so he was not sitting on his berth. It was a constant reminder of what Jazz had immediately assumed was going to happen.

"No. No, it's fine. Another game?"

"And have you beat me in two breems yet again?" Deltaray grinned. "I think not. I want to retain _some_ dignity, thank you."

"Oh. My apologies."

"That's fine, no offense taken." He glanced to the empty berth behind himself. "Your roommate is doing a double shift?"

"N-no. He's staying with a friend."

"So we won't have any interruptions, then? Nice."

Prowl felt his engine rev, clearly audible in the silence of the room, and looked down in embarrassment.

"Ahem. I'll just clear this away then, and... oh."

He had reached for the board, but Deltaray's hands stopped him, sliding up over the back of his hands and along his forearms, thumbs brushing deliberately against the panels that concealed the data cords in his wrists.

"Leave that for now. There're other things we can do."

The older mech rose and joined him on the berth, leaning in close.

"I'm not... I mean, I haven't done this much." Prowl blurted.

Deltaray smiled.

"I have."

* * *

Jazz saw the minibot come into the storeroom, and dragged him off to a side room before he could speak.

"What're you doing here?"

"Hey, calm down will ya? I'm just here to chat."

Jazz cast a nervous glance out into the main room, then shook his head.

"Well I'm not in a chatty mood. Come back tomorrow."

"What's got _you_ all jumpy?"

"Safestore. He threw a fit about that paint prank. For some reason he thinks _I_ was the one who supplied the materials."

"Well, you were." Torque pointed out.

Jazz pouted.

"I've got alibis coverin' me, y'know. He can't just go makin' accusations like that without proof. I've been here three straight shifts now, doing an inventory of the whole slaggin' fluids hold! How's _that_ fair?"

Torque grinned.

"He hasn't got any real proof then. One of these days, Jazz, he's really going to catch you good."

"It's not fair." Jazz grumbled, folding his arms, then frowned down at the minibot. "Anyway, what're you doin' here?"

"Come to pass on some bad news. I can't believe you haven't heard yet - Jazz the gossip-mech's last to know, for once!"

"To know what?"

Torque smirked.

"Tracks won the pool on when Prowl'd finally get his bolts jumped."

"Last night?" Jazz asked, outwardly feigning dismay, inwardly congratulating himself that it had clearly all gone smoothly. "Who?"

The minibot sniggered.

"The smarmy lieutenant. Shoulda guessed, eh?"

The tone of the comment caught him out.

"Why? He's got a rep?"

"Sure has. Delta's been in and out of more berths than _you_ have."

"Bet he hasn't." Jazz retorted reflexively, annoyed that he had not bothered to look into Prowl's prospective first lover more closely but burying that behind 'professional' pride for now. "I'm just discreet about it. Anyway, why's that bad news? If he's gettin' laid, he might just ease up a bit."

"It's _bad_ news because Tracks wanted to be paid in wax, remember? The good stuff. Which means _you've_ gotta find a way to make it disappear from here and reappear in his quarters without Safestore getting suspicious."

Jazz groaned, moaning about fairness again. But already his processors were cycling hard through how he was going to check up on what Torque had hinted at, and what he was going to do as damage control with Prowl if it turned out for the worst.

* * *

Prowl looked up as the door opened, and was relieved to see Jazz.

"You wanted t'see me, sir?"

The visored-mech's patent nervousness was unfamiliar and made him slightly curious as to what had happened, and then he realised that this was just Jazz playing his part. He probably thought he was here for a reprimand over something.

"Yes. Close the door."

He rarely had much to do with Jazz on duty, and realised belatedly that he had never once ordered Jazz to his office. Now that he considered it, that was odd given that he knew for a fact Jazz was active in the prank war, but there was never any evidence against him. Something to think on later; right now he had other concerns.

"Who did you tell that Deltaray was coming back to our quarters last night?" he asked urgently.

Jazz frowned.

"No- one."

"Then how does everyone _know_?" Prowl groaned, putting his face in his hands. "All shift there have been mechs smirking and whispering and giggling everywhere I go. And making the most obscene gestures. And Curveball even stopped by to approve! I've never been so mortified. I didn't know what to say. How did they all find out?"

Jazz opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, then shook his head.

"Word about this stuff gets out." he shrugged. "Someone musta seen him go in or come out. Maybe the mechs on camera duty? Or maybe Ultra Virex asked Deltaray where he'd been and someone overheard. There's lots of ways it can happen. It'll die down, they'll lose interest in awhile."

He paused, then cocked his head to one side.

"Was it worth it?"

Prowl let his head drop lower to hide his flustered expression while he tried to figure out what to say in answer to that painfully blunt question.

In fact, it had been awkward and embarrassing. There had been moments when it had felt utterly blissful, and then other moments when Deltaray's pawing of his doorwings had been uncomfortably rough or his own touches had been deemed too tentative and had elicited frustrated instructions to 'stop fragging about'.

All in all it had felt a bit rushed and messy and not quite what he had been expecting. More disappointing than fulfilling. Perhaps it would improve with practice?

"It was memorable." he allowed finally. "But I would be happier if I did not believe that the entire crew were not remembering it with me."

"They'll forget." Jazz assured him. "It's news right now, sure, but something else'll come up soon enough."

"But why is anyone even interested?" he groaned, raising his head to look at Jazz pleadingly. "I'm not interested in what any of them do, why should they care about me?"

Jazz sighed.

"It's the way it works, Prowler. You're new - okay, you're not _that_ new, but bear with me - you're new and you came here under strange circumstances. You got picked up from a crash site, and pretty much hired on the spot into one o'the most exclusive teams on the ship.

"Then you're given the job everyone hates, an' you turn out t'be good at it. Good enough that everyone who bends the rules a bit knows who you are, an' everyone on top breathes a sigh of relief that someone's actually keepin' everythin' under control for once.

"Everyone's watchin' t'see what y' _can't_ do, just so they can be sure you're as fallible as the rest of us, but you're a tough one t'pick. Y'don't get drunk, y'don't go to parties, y'don't get caught up in the games, an' y'don't berth-hop. So when y' _do_ do somethin' normal, it's news. Y'see?"

Prowl felt his doorwings droop as the explanation sank in.

"That... is adequately logical, yes."

"Just don't fuss about it." Jazz advised. "They'll get over it, and all that really matters is you're enjoyin' yourself. You _are_ , right?"

"Of course."

"Well fine. That's that, then."


	10. Part 2: A first time for everything, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2, chapter 4 of 4

Jazz sat at the back of the empty briefing room long after his companions had departed, frowning blankly across the space as he considered what he had learned from various sources.

For one thing, while Deltaray genuinely was part of Virex's security team he was not the security chief; under the circumstances there was no obvious reason why he should have been aboard the _Ark_ at all. But the rumour mill knew full well why he was here.

Virex was a friend of Quickquadrant's from back on Cybertron, and Deltaray was known to visit with Prime's strategist when time and duties permitted, though never in any official capacity.

That on its own was nothing to worry about, but there was more. The whole business with Prowl had been a bet between the two of them: Quickquadrant betting that all of Deltaray's charm could not convince the chaste junior tactician to take him to his berth, and Deltaray determined to see that he would.

Jazz would probably have heard about it earlier had he been keeping up with the gossip, but between his focus on the prank war and planning for new ops missions and answering Prowl's questions he had let his usual patterns lapse. He was getting sloppy, letting his attention wander, even somewhere safe like here on the _Ark_. Acute awareness of his surroundings was vital on his infiltration missions: he must not lose that edge.

Anyway, the fact was that Deltaray had succeeded, so he should now leave Prowl alone. Prowl did not talk to any of the gossip-mongers, so he should not hear anything to worry him and the visitors would soon be off-ship.

It could not come soon enough to assauge Jazz's guilt for not protecting the young mech from the whole mess.

"Curveball is waiting for you." a voice announced from the air in front of him.

"Yeah I know." he nodded to Mirage, having tracked the spy's movement across the room. "No hurry, though, it's just another plannin' session."

Mirage finally deigned to become visible again, as always mildly irritated that he had failed to startle Jazz.

"You always push the boundaries." he observed coolly.

"Yup." Jazz rose and stretched. "That's my job."

"Your job does not include stalking security mechs, even dubiously moralled ones."

Jazz shrugged.

"What I do on my time's my business. Come on, lets get this over with."

"What I don't understand is why you're so concerned about this." Mirage persisted. "You could have blocked him if you wanted to, and you've had plenty of opportunity to seduce Prowl if that was your goal. I understood you had decided not to."

"I did." Jazz nodded firmly, careful to show no ambivalence whatsoever. "But I have t'share a room with the mech, an' he ain't takin' the close scrutiny all that well. He's somewhat short on experience, an' I'm pretty sure this meant a fair bit more to him than to Delta."

"Ah. He doesn't realise Delta may not be so committed?"

"I hope he does." Jazz frowned.

Something else he would have to make sure of, when he had time.

* * *

"So I guess this is it, then."

Prowl looked up to see Deltaray standing in the doorway.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We're off. Back to the _Isolantix_."

"Oh."

An aide slipped past Deltaray to drop off the mid-shift report and smirked at them both. Prowl kept his gaze firmly on his terminal screen until the aide left, determined not to let his doorwings twitch and give away his embarrassment, then returned his attention to his visitor.

"Your work here is done then? When do you leave?"

"In a couple of groons. Virex and Prime finished their talks last shift and he's charging now, so when he gets up we'll be off."

"I see. Well it has been a pleasure working with you."

"More than just the _working_ together, I hope." Deltaray retorted with a leer.

"I... well... of course, but that's..." he stammered, shocked that the lieutenant would raise the matter so casually in an public area.

"Maybe I'll see you again next time I'm on board." Deltaray suggested. "But in the meantime..."

He paused and Prowl found himself waiting anxiously for whatever would follow. He watched as the older mech swaggered over to the desk and had a moment of distant panic that his visitor was going to try something embarrassing.

The panic stemmed mostly from the realisation that he was not prepared to stop whatever this mech had in mind, that in fact he was looking forward to it. Perhaps it would be better the second time round?

"You do know it wasn't anything personal, right? Just for fun, eh? You're a pretty one, but I'm not looking for a lifemate."

Prowl looked down, startled out of his half-formed fantasy.

"Naturally, I had no such misconceptions."

"Good. Well, I'm off then."

He swept out, and Prowl shuttered his optics. At times he wondered why he even bothered attempting to make sense of social interactions. Life was a good deal simpler when he simply stuck to factual data.

* * *

Jazz watched from the sidelines amongst the gawking crowds as the high ranks went through their ceremonies, Prime himself farewelling Ultra Virex, but he was really only interested in the lieutenant that stood to the commander's left. A mech that could do with a bit of an education in knowing his place, by Jazz's estimation.

It was best that Deltaray was leaving, particularly with what Jazz had learned since he had started taking a focused interest in his target.

The mech was completely self-absorbed, always looking for a new conquest and then gossiping about it to improve his own reputation. He may even have gone after Prowl without Quickquadrant's prompting just to prove how irresistable he was. If he had realised how inexperienced Prowl truly was then that information would have been spread halfway across the fleet by now.

No harm done, though, he reminded himself. Prowl had no idea how sleazy the mech was, and since he was not in a position to hear the gossip he was unlikely to hear that he had not been Deltaray's only diversion in the short time they had been on board. Even more mortifying, that Deltaray had gone from Prowl's berth to Quickquadrant's within a groon. Yes, best that he remain ignorant of that too.

The visitors boarded their shuttle and headed out, and the crowds began to disperse. It was for the best. He just hoped Prowl had not developed too much of a crush on the now absent lieutenant. And that the _Isolantix_ did not cross paths with _Ark_ again for a long time to come.

* * *

_Epilogue - 2 vorns later_

Prowl put down his stylus and frowned, not sure he had correctly processed what he had just heard.

"When?"

The ensign looked uncomfortable.

"The message came in just a breem ago..."

"No." Prowl cut him off. "When did it happen?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have that information. I shouldn't've even brought you this except I thought you'd like to know."

Prowl stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. Thank you. Dismissed."

He looked down at the report he had been writing but could not remember what it had been about. The words no longer seemed to make sense, the only information passing through his processor the words of the message the ensign had brought.

Shuttering his optics, he carefully and deliberately reorganised his processor's priority list, wrote a small patch program to divert his attention from that particular topic anytime it strayed there, then resumed his work. One point seven two breems later he realised it was not working and submitted a request to be released early from duty. The response was an instruction to explain why.

Deciding that he could not do this via message which would be stored in the formal record, he turned off his terminal and went to speak to his supervisor personally.

* * *

Jazz stepped into the room quietly, noting the doused lights, and closed the door behind himself. Moving surely across to his own berth, he sat down and set the cubes he was carrying down beside him. The mech on the other berth sighed heavily and turned on the lights, revealing that he was lying on his side facing the wall.

"You don't have to sit in the dark." Prowl told him dully. "Put some music on if you like, it won't bother me."

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Jazz waited but nothing more was forthcoming.

"Heard you came straight here. I brought you some energon."

"You have it. I have no appetite."

"Prowler, I'm sorry."

Doorwings trembled, rattling softly against the berth.

"We're at war. These things happen, mechs get killed. Life goes on for the rest of us."

"Still hurts when it hits us personally, though."

"There was no long-term commitment. It was merely a diversion, nothing special."

"He was special to you."

Prowl curled in on himself, a faint whine audible under his words.

"Did you know he was sharing with three others on board, including Quickquadrant?" the question came bitterly. "That it was all just a wager? My supervisor seemed surprised that I was upset, since everyone knew it was all just a game."

"I didn't know at the time or I woulda warned ya." Jazz allowed. "But it doesn't change anythin'. It's always hard when a lover goes, no matter how it got started. An' it was special for you, even if it wasn't for him."

"I don't know what it was." Prowl whispered, the whine getting louder but still being stifled.

Jazz shifted across to the other berth and put a hand on Prowl's arm, feeling him tremble.

"You don't have t'pretend you ain't hurtin', Prowler. You're not a drone."

It was evidently what he needed to hear because he curled up tighter, keening loudly, hand fumbling to catch Jazz's and squeeze it tightly.

Jazz grimaced.

At times like this he wished he had told Curveball exactly how innocent Prowl really was and gotten the youngling right out of it all. The war was building up again after several decades of nothing but minor skirmishes and there would be plenty more reasons to mourn in the future if the situation did not soon change in their favour.

Prowl had to learn not to rely on him. He could be sent away on a long-term mission at any time. He could be killed at any time. Everyone had to find their own way to cope, it was the only way to survive. Life during wartime was harsh.

Yet... he was here now. And he would not leave Prowl to suffer alone when he had the choice.

Shifting back on the berth until he was leaning against the wall, he pulled Prowl up into a hug. It was the least he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 2.


	11. Part 3: Near misses, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, chapter 1 of 5

Deltaray's death was not precisely the beginning of the escalation, but that was the way Jazz would always remember it because the destruction of the _Isolantix_ marked the start of a new campaign targetting ranking officers. Within a vorn two more commanders had been assassinated on their own ships; within a decade three of the eight remaining torus state bases had fallen.

The Decepticons' long silence had been a time of consolidation, and now they struck out from their armoured bases with renewed viciousness. Altihex was under siege, the resistance at Kalis crushed, the civilian enclave at Vos enslaved. If it had not been for the secure satellite base of Ovacalix and the still-impenetrable dome-shield at Iacon the Autobot cause would now be in tatters.

As it was, there was no time to be complacent. Everyone was busy.

Prowl had been promoted to junior field tactician, his strategic planning skills vital during the effort to clear the military bases of non-combatants: those who were not allied to the cause had to be removed in case there were spies and traitors among them. It was a controversial move and a difficult task as many were the lovers or creations of committed soldiers. All too often long-time spark-pairs split across factional lines had to make the difficult choice either to bear arms for a cause they did not believe in or to go into hiding as Neutrals and abandon both the cause and their friends.

Jazz was initially concerned that the responsibility would be too much but Prowl handled it well. In fact, he settled into the unpleasant task with all the ease and confidence of someone ten times his age and experience. Perhaps his mentor had been on to something after all? No. Jazz would not allow him even that much credit.

For his own part there had been a flurry of short-term missions to attack targets identified by other operatives. Mostly sabotaging energon refineries so that they would produce poor quality product, but also changing specifications on weapons manufacture facilities and occasionally contributing to the destruction of an entire base or two.

Nothing too challenging for him.

Often he was only away for a few orns at a time, something that would have been far more noticeable had everyone else not been in flux. That worried him somewhat: after all if _he_ could slip in and out unnoticed by the crew, others could too. But Curveball assured him that the operatives on-ship were keeping a close optic on everything and everyone.

Prowl had asked only once what he was doing, then had accepted the explanation that there could never be an explanation.

The relationship between them fell into a new routine: Prowl still had questions for him, but they were more sporadic. In turn, he would always let the tactician know when he was on board and leave a signal to indicate when he had gone so that Prowl was not constantly wondering if he were present or not.

Once, only once, he had returned to find Prowl had company in his berth and he had quickly left again before disturbing the preoccupied couple. Prowl had never mentioned it so he assumed his intrusion had gone unnoticed. Since then he had always checked Prowl's schedule and was more cautious if the tactician was already off duty, but so far it had not been an issue again.

Not that Prowl was always on ship, himself.

Following his impressive work with the non-combatants Quickquadrant had apparently decided Prowl needed some field experience before he could be allowed to assist with the actual planning team, so he was spending a proportion of his time incorporated into a combat unit working on the rim colonies. It was not safe, but there really was no safety left anywhere so Jazz kept his concerns to himself and just prayed that Prowl's inexperience would not get him killed.

Lingering by the desk at the end of Prowl's berth, Jazz traced his fingertips over the datapad left there. Its contents would tell him a great deal: music would indicate Prowl was on-ship; text meant he was off.

Keying it on, he saw the screen load with the text of a half-written report on the potential energon sources in the surrounding systems.

He sighed, turning it off, then shook his head. He needed company; he would rest later.

* * *

Prowl flinched as yet another missile screamed overhead and exploded into a building on the horizon. What was left of it, anyway.

A few orns earlier it must have been a very beautiful, ornate temple; now it was just a shell that was doubling as an impromptu mausoleum. Many of the inhabitants of this outpost had holed up there when the attack had started in the hope it would shelter them, but instead it had just centralised them as a target so that when the Decepticons dropped some cluster bombs from low orbit they had all died within clicks.

This was not a normal Decepticon target. It had been a Neutral colony, unarmed, highly religious, not at all threatening. Intelligence had it that the Decepticons had attacked because of a rumour that Autobot soldiers were using it as a staging post for an attack on the large asteroid base Perisymex.

The disturbing part was that they were half-right. There _was_ a contingent of soldiers preparing for an attack on Perisymex. The only detail the Decepticons had gotten wrong was where they were based: they were not here, but rather on a similar but unoccupied moon orbiting a planet somewhat closer to this system's binary suns. To get this close to the truth, though, suggested an information leak somewhere.

Of the original inhabitants here, a few had survived either through good luck or good planning. Nine had hidden near the mine where they had been working when the attack began. Two sparklings had been exploring in some nearby canyons away from the main site. A bonded pair had survived due to the good luck - or bad fortune - of having gone off for some private time for the day.

Isolation had saved each of them.

One mech had taken the risk of sending out a distress signal to the Autobots, the only reason they were here now, and had been captured and tortured by the Decepticons who believed he was part of the unit they had been unable to locate. The medics reported that he was unlikely to survive the trip up to the _Ark_ and proper repair facilities.

All of the survivors were traumatised by what they had been through. The bonded pair were refusing to leave the surface until their sparkling was found, in spite of the eyewitness testimony by one of the other survivors that the young femme had died. Several of the miners were refusing to evacuate, insisting that they could rebuild once the Decepticons had gone. Claiming that the Decepticons would go as soon as the _Ark_ left near orbit.

In the end, though, it was the reactions of the sparklings which Prowl found the most incomprehensible. One was just a few vorns older than he, the other older by several decades, but they were both incoherent, the younger of the pair often devolving into binary click rather than fully developed language. Most disturbing of all everyone else seemed to think this was normal enough for their stage of development.

He knew Jazz felt that his own upbringing had been criminally harsh and rushed, but was this really what he would have been like if he had been treated normally? No wonder mecha considered two hundred and fifty the age of consent: prior to that, clearly it was too much to expect a reasoned and informed opinion on anything. He would have to ask why it was so abhorrent to speed up the process the next time he saw the saboteur.

"Storesmech." he reminded himself.

It was dangerous to even think the truth of Jazz's occupation, given that it might slip out at the wrong moment if he was not careful.

"What was that, Prowl?" Powderburn turned to him.

He refocused, gesturing to the holomap in front of them.

"The underground feeder lines should still be active. They're how the energon ore is being transported to the refinery. The Decepticons currently hold both the refinery and mines, but they can't block off the feeder lines without stopping the delivery system and reprogramming the entire sequence. If we launch an attack here and disrupt that line, it may cause a chain reaction that could take out the entire refinery.

"Alternatively, we could dig into the lines and load in some timed ordinance to ensure the damage, but that would take longer."

Bless Jazz for his rambling discussions of the many ways to disable a refinery.

The seniors around him agreed with the outline, refining it with details of who and where and how, and he fell back to restock his ammunition while there was time.

Another missile whistled overhead and he shivered as the former temple shuddered on its foundations. The sooner he was back on ship, the happier he would be.


	12. Part 3: Near misses, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, chapter 2 of 5

Jazz leaned back into the shadows as the bored guards ambled noisily past and around the corner three corridors short of the end of the hall. He remained perfectly still for the further two breems it took for the two would-be spies to creep nervously along behind them.

Once he was sure the way was clear he headed back in the direction they had come from.

Amateurs. A pity for them he had already dismantled and removed the explosive devices they had clumsily set.

What rookies never understood was that it was not about the size of the explosion. Blowing things up was crude, sabotage was subtler and almost always more effective. Set a big bomb and the enemy knew you were present and likely to be caught; make it look like an accident or a coincidence and they were never sure. Mecha died either way, sometimes innocent ones, but more with the former than the latter.

The changes he had made today would not take effect for several orns, long after he was gone. It would initially appear as a mechanical failure. Unless they got very lucky, or had a bored programming genius on hand, they probably would not realise what was really going on until it was far too late. And if they did? Well it had never happened yet, but he had set some particularly vicious programming traps for anyone who mucked about with his coding.

Perhaps he should have spoken to the two desperate Neutral rebels, warned them to get away? No, they would not have appreciated it. If they knew he was here, at best they would cause a fuss trying to get him to help them and at worst they would get him caught. Sadly, they were on their own.

There were more and more of their type around, recently. The number of attacks on Neutral communities was increasing, the Decepticons insisting there were Autobot sympathisers amongst each group of victims.

The net result was that more and more of the Neutrals - particularly the younger ones - were splitting into uncoordinated factions with violent tendencies, and thus drawing ever more attention. The older and more conservative Neutrals were horrified by them; the Autobots would not support them; the Decepticons had no qualms in using them as cause to attack obviously innocent civilians.

Emerging from the base and staying close to the cliff edge where he was mostly concealed from above by it's looming bulk, he relaxed his shoulders and strode out with the awkward rolling movement of one unaccustomed to crossing any great distance in root mode, unsubspacing a datapad which he clenched in his hand and swung unhappily by his side.

For a long while he saw no-one and perhaps the act was wasted but then, just as he was approaching the mines whose catacombs would permit him to escape the same way as he had come in, a jet swooped down and landed beside him.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"Outta my way." Jazz growled, flexing the fake wings on his back and brandishing the datapad. "I've got orders to check the ore."

"Again?" the jet grumbled. "I thought they got that sorted."

"You wanna do it for me?" Jazz asked. "I'll make it worth your while. There's a little Neutral femme in the cells I guard. I could arrange some alone time."

The jet looked tempted, then glanced back towards the mines and shuddered.

"Ugh, forget it. Only way they're getting _me_ underground is at the end of Megatron's cannon. Still... meet me after shift and we'll talk. Maybe we can do a deal."

Jazz grunted dubiously and the jet transformed and took off again. Shuffling onwards he casually joked with the guards, briefly fondled - molested, any observing Autobot would primly insist - a nearby slave, and trudged grumpily inside.

Another mission down. Home again soon.

* * *

Prowl glanced at the chest at the end of Jazz's berth and sighed.

If Jazz were here, the scattering of music recordings would have been put away. Instead, they were just the same as they had been the last time he looked. As secondary measures - the other mech was downright paranoid about others cottoning on to patterns - he noted that the stylus that had been 'dropped' on the floor was still peeking out from under the locker and the piece of amethyst crystal was still displayed on its shortest side on the shelf.

Jazz was not here.

Sinking down on his own berth, he wondered where his roommate was this time. Jazz would never tell him and he had stopped asking after that first time, but occasionally he could guess after the fact from the battle reports that mentioned non-functional manufacturing plants. How Jazz managed to slip in and out of these places without getting caught was more than he could imagine, but he was glad the saboteur was good at his job.

The door chime startled him out of a doze and he clutched at his aching shoulder as he heaved himself up. Straightening his posture, he opened the door to find Jazz's medic friend Clinker standing there.

"I'd heard a report you were injured." the medic frowned at him. "Why didn't you report to the repair bay?"

Prowl shook his head.

"It's only panel damage. If I'd gone, I'd have been assessed as a recall anyway, so I decided to save you the trouble. I intended to come after charging."

"It's not up to you to make that assessment." Clinker told him. "What if you had pinched cables under there? Or shorting wires?"

"I don't."

"Not your call to make. Come on, back to the bay. And don't ever do this again."

The medic grabbed his good hand and started to lead him out, but Prowl balked as he remembered he had not swapped his own signal over.

"Wait, I just need to..."

"You can come back and do it later, whatever it is." Clinker insisted and dragged him away.

* * *

Text again. Figured. He started to clean up the music files, then paused as he received a comm message of what appeared to be an invitation to a party but was garbled at the end. Sighing, he scattered the files again and walked out.

The message specified the rec room, so he knew it was the fourth deck archive storeroom he was to go to. Today, anyway. These things changed frequently. The gibberish at the end of the message had given him the key to the location code.

Arriving there he was mildly surprised to see Mirage waiting for him along with two other agents he did not know. Surprised because he generally worked solo. The other two were dismissed and Jazz waited until they were gone before speaking.

"Rookies?"

"Everyone's got to start on the priority one missions sometime." Mirage pointed out. "We lost four more agents while you were out this time."

"Anyone I know?"

"Shiver and Greenlight. The other two were deep cover."

Sad. Shiver had been an excellent sniper and communications expert and Greenlight had been a superior assassin. He had not had a great deal to do with either of them, but enough to respect their skills.

"And these two?"

"They believe you're a rookie just as they are, only a little more advanced. Curveball wants them assessed."

"Tch. I'm a custodian now?"

"Well you did such a good job with Prowl."

"Very funny. So who do they think I am?"

"Your codename is Darkspot. Your mission briefing is on here and the three of you are scheduled to depart immediately."

He handed over a datachip which Jazz immediately subspaced then turned away.

"Meister - be careful."

Jazz flashed a confident grin back at the spy at the sound of his ops name.

"Always."

* * *

Prowl returned to his room, annoyed that the end result of Clinker's interference was simply that he was now on the recall list. The medics were too busy to deal with cosmetic damage at this stage, just as he had suspected, so after a quick scan they had sent him back. He supposed the process had a purpose in that they knew for certain what his injuries were and could prioritise appropriately, but it was still frustrating.

Heading for his berth he was about to turn off the lights when he realised something had changed. Freezing in place, he stared at the scattered music files.

They had been moved.

His optics flicked quickly to the other two markers but they remained untouched. So what did that mean? Someone had been in here? Disturbed, he set a new code into the door lock. He just hoped he was actually here when Jazz returned or else the saboteur would have to hack his way into his own room.


	13. Part 3: Near misses, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, chapter 3 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: character death, Jazz being ruthless
> 
> A/N: Sidestory _Echoes: the medic_ gives some background to one of the other characters, intended to be read at the end of this chapter (though you can wait until the end of the Part if you prefer ^_^) Note: it's not necessary to read this or any of the _Echoes_ supplements :)

The planning was quick, the execution less so. Getting away from the fleet, travelling to the right system, slipping into the atmosphere without leaving a trace, sneaking into the Decepticon camp itself. It had taken tedious orns of mostly sitting and watching, something Jazz's two companions had found frustrating. They were much happier to be finally making their move.

Jazz could empathise: he just wanted his babysitting role to be over.

Soon, now. If they could just do their jobs for another couple of groons, they could be heading back to the _Ark_ and everything would be fine.

~Shadow 2 in place.~

He nodded to himself. About time.

~Copy that. Wait for signal.~

Pause.

~Shadow 1 in place.~

~Copy that. Wait for signal.~

Pause.

~Shadow 2 calling Shadowmaster: no activity yet.~

Jazz leaned his head back against the wall he was pressed up to, despairing.

Techtonic was showing promise, but Filigree? If they were all very lucky, the idiot would only get _himself_ killed. Too eager, too impatient, too energetic. None of those were good traits in ops agents, and particularly not desirable for saboteurs. This was not a race.

He wondered if it was worthwhile slipping out of position to go and give 'Shadow 2' a fright, then dismissed the thought. Once the mission was done it might be a different matter, but for now he had a job to do.

~Shadow 2 calling Shadowmaster: someone's moving around down here.~

Just what part of the radio silence order did he not understand? Jazz frowned. No unnecessary contact meant no unnecessary contact. A simple enough concept, even for a moron.

~ I see two mechs, they're... Darkspot, they see me!~

And now he used _names_? Primus, he really _would_ get them all killed. What had Mirage been thinking, letting this glitch see him in his Jazz persona? Granted, he still did not know about Meister, but it was more than enough to get plenty of mecha killed.

Making his decision, he slipped silently along the catwalk until he could see both Filigree's position - he was two full steps out of where he should have been - and the two fast approaching mechs closing in on him. Unamused, he aimed and fired a signal.

It was not an attack that would have any effect on the average mech, but these two agents had been implanted with suicide codes on Curveball's orders for situations just like this, and he held the activation key. Filigree collapsed silently, going grey within clicks.

There was time to return to his own place, but that would leave three figures right in the line of sight of the patrol that was due soon. Hoping Techtonic would be clever enough to stay put, he leapt down and out into the corridor. The two mechs were devoid of factional symbols: more rebel Neutrals.

"Stay still or we'll shoot." one of them warned, raising his rifle.

Jazz did not pause, shooting them both efficiently. There was no time for this and they would only be a liability now that they knew there were others here even if they could be trusted to stay out of the way.

With no time to be fussy, he grabbed their greying frames and shoved all three into the alcove where Filigree should have been hiding, then heard the signal. Out of time to return to his own space, and with Filigree's already filled, he was out of options. Time for Plan B.

Such a shame there actually was no Plan B.

* * *

"Stay down!" the warrior above him roared, shooting constantly from both arm-mounted rifles.

Prowl hunched lower, perfectly willing to obey. He had no idea what was going on beyond the fact that he and two others had been pinned down; the communications lines were not being jammed but were filled with chaotic babble. If the reports he was hearing were to be believed, there must be at least three full units of Decepticon warriors loose on this moon.

It could not be true. There had been none here when they had stopped to drop materials several groons earlier.

This was to be one of several potential fallback positions once the battle on Perisymex began, an uninhabited moon with high radiation and low atmosphere. Good for energy, bad for atmospheric flight. Nowhere near any other outposts. Far enough away from the main planet to cope with any threats based there but close enough to benefit from its magnetic pull.

"Move!" he was ordered, a rough grip dragging him to his pedes and off to one side, then down into a gully and along the defile.

They had not been followed, he was sure of that.

The ship they had used had been fired out of the _Ark_ 's launcher tube without ever engaging the engines, and had drifted here silently. They had plenty of fuel and energy to head back, but the intention was that they would get well clear of this system before giving themselves away. Sky Lynx had checked the _Ark_ 's backtrail in case anyone had actually seen them, but had not reported in so there was no sign of pursuit.

Nevertheless, the Decepticons were now here, having landed a cruiser in the middle of their camp.

"Slag! Can't go that way. Back here!"

His arm was almost wrenched out of its socket with the abrupt change in direction, then he ran straight into the back of the mech leading him when he stopped abruptly. He was solid enough that Prowl simply bounced off him, not destabilising him at all. Slightly dizzied from the abrupt changes, he looked up to see they had met up with another small group of Autobots.

"...and we've got _him_ to look after." his benefactor was muttering, jerking his head back in Prowl's direction.

The other mech glanced at Prowl then nodded.

"Right. Keep moving then. Try to get back to the ship. We'll hold them off here."

"Tactically it makes more sense to..." Prowl began, then yelped as he was hauled back around and away. "I'm not helpless, you know." he snapped irritably.

"You're what they're after."

"Officers are always targets and I'm hardly of rank to..."

"You're the only officer left. Now come _on_."

* * *

"He was incredible." Techtonic finished, awed.

Curveball laughed, clapping Jazz on the back hard enough to nearly jolt him out of his seat.

"He sure is." he agreed heartily. "Darkspot's one of the best."

Jazz winced, pulling away and downing another cube of highly contraband high grade.

"This is why I work alone." he muttered grumpily.

"Aw, don't fuss. The medics'll reattach that arm in no time."

"Yeah, but until then I can't sorcel."

"Sorcelling's a disguise technique." Curveball indulged the rookie, completely ignoring the complaint.

"I've heard of it but never seen it. Does it really mimic both shape and colouring?"

"Sure does, if you do it right, but it takes practice. Most mechs never get the knack of it but Meister's a real expert, and Darkspot's not bad either."

Jazz shot his boss a dark look as he grabbed another cube and was thoroughly unreassured by the smirk he received back.

"Meister." Techtonic nodded eagerly. "I'd love to meet him. Is he really as good as they say?"

"Better." Curveball grinned. "Never failed on a mission yet."

"Oh fine, jinx _him_ now, why don't ya?" Jazz glared.

"Can't jinx Meister." Curveball waggled an admonishing finger at him. "The mech's unstoppable."

"Have you ever met him, Darkspot?" Techtonic asked.

Jazz sighed.

"Once or twice. Not really to talk to. He spends most of his time sorcelled, so you might've met him yourself an' you'd never know it."

"Then does anyone actually know what he looks like?"

"If they do, they probably don't know it." Curveball told him mendaciously, then looked up at the sound of an alert from the shuttle's control panel. "Ah, that'll be our rendezvous. You should probably lay off that high grade before the medics get hold of you."

"Forget it." Jazz grunted, taking another swig. "I'm not plannin' on bein' coherent enough t'hear'em lecture me."

"It won't be Ratchet, you know."

"Doesn't matter, they're all the same. He trained'em all."


	14. Part 3: Near misses, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, chapter 4 of 5

Prowl nodded approval at a soldier handing out energon sticks, accepting one himself and breaking a segment off to chew as he continued to make his way around the lines. There was documented evidence that it was good for morale for troops to see their commanders and even though he had not chosen to be in this role he would see it through to the best of his ability.

After the initial attack there had been chaos. The soldiers he was with had been set on getting him back to the shuttle, a futile effort given that the Decepticons had already claimed it, and he had quickly realised that they were just as likely to get themselves killed if something was not done. So he had taken charge.

He ordered those around him back to the supply depot that they had been halfway through reprovisioning when the attack started. It was only intended to house a force one third of their number but there was ammunition, fuel and shelter there and, most blessedly of all, a defensive shield.

Their interstellar communications were being blocked from orbit so they could not call for help, and centralising meant they presented only a single target for their foes, but they were now on the defensive side of a classic siege. From here they could defend their position for orns, and if they were out of communication for more than three orns help should come without being summoned.

They could easily last that long but he was already planning in case it was longer. Rather than take the risk of running short of supplies if their reinforcements were late he had ordered strict rationing, and so far - apart from some panic-induced rebellion on that first day, quickly quelled - everything had gone smoothly.

Walking on, Prowl watched messengers dashing between the units. Half the troubles he had had were due to misunderstandings or soldiers reacting rather than waiting for orders. Many more lives could have been saved if he had been able to get the message out to their scattered forces when he first took charge.

They needed a secure communication system, he decided. Encryption alone was not enough, there had to be a command frequency. Changed every mission if necessary, but something that all the troops on the ground could trust to hear coherent, useful tactical data. Then a secondary channel for their unit, and a tertiary channel for all the others within broadcast range. And perhaps an additional mayday frequency, always set in the same place.

The Decepticons would sometimes set traps via such a structured system, but it would be worthwhile more often than not, surely?

Rounding a corner into a corridor that was temporarily empty he leaned heavily against one wall, more tired than he had believed he could ever get without collapsing into involuntary stasis. The ambient radiation here meant that it did not matter if they did not refuel much or often, but his processors had been active for almost four full orns without a break.

That was another thing to note, then. From now on, he would always make sure he got some charge while en route. He was an officer but not a commander. There was no need for him to watch over the crew while travelling, and several dozen good reasons why he should rest.

Foremost of those reasons, the highly improbable situation that they were attacked by a large Decepticon force that took out the rest of the command element and left him in charge.

"Sir? New intell from the western wall. Enemy appear to be preparing cannon installations."

He straightened at the first sound behind him and tried to pretend that he had not just been caught in a moment of weakness. The messenger certainly did not show any indication of having noticed.

"Have every third sniper in blue squad shift to that position and try to take out the constructors." he ordered, consulting the tactical map he had built in his own processor for lack of the basic equipment he should have had access to. "Decepticon units as a rule have a limited number of construction-trained workers - if we put them at risk, they'll stop."

"Yes sir."

Another appeared even before the first could leave.

"Sir, enemy strike count from the eastern wall now at fifty-six."

The numbers they were facing were insane.

There simply should not be this many Decepticons available in this sector to even be here right now, not with the major offensive occurring near Galbion three sectors away. The Decepticons outnumbered the Autobots, certainly, but not to this degree. Where were they coming from? And what had happened to their sense of self-presevation?

Fifty-six casualties on just one of the four walls? That was more than a full company. The Decepticons were known to be manic at times, certainly, but careless? It did not sound right.

"Get me some images." he instructed. "Time lapse over from as far back as you can get."

"Yes sir."

Maybe they were just clever holograms? A single unit could be holding them down if that was the case. But it did not match with the constant pressure on the shield, nor would it fit with the hand to hand combat that had preceded this siege, nor with the body count.

How were they doing it?

* * *

Jazz came online with full clarity thanks to the illegal programming that no medic would ever countenance, and had a click to wish he had not been so stupid before the pain swept in.

He could have pushed it back again, but there was a price for that and right now there was no reason to pay it. He put up with the blurred vision and stabbing pain from his shoulder and dull ache from his processor, and reminded himself that he was on board the Autobot cruiser _Fantalex_ en route back to the _Ark_.

Then he realised someone was leaning over him, and that the form was familiar.

"Hound?" he croaked, confused.

The scout had been on the _Ark_ last he knew, what was he doing here?

"Seen you looking better. How are you feeling?"

"Like slag. What's up?"

Hound frowned, then glanced to his left. Someone else moved into view and it took a moment for his optics to catch up with the movement and identify the shape.

"Raj?"

"Are you mobile?"

"I can be." he said cautiously. "Do I need to be?"

"We have codes for Darkmount. Curveball wants you in on this."

He activated several more programs and sat up to look at the other two operatives soberly.

"I'm in. What's the deal?"

"One of our sleeper agents just broke cover to get this out." Mirage told him, handing over a datapad. "If it's what it appears to be, it's too good an opportunity to pass up."

"But it's also too good to be true." Hound pointed out as Jazz began to read. "Which is why Curveball wants you in there, because you've been before."

"Almost certainly a trap." Jazz mused, flexing his new arm absently.

"But the layout?"

"Pretty much matches what I remember. It's been awhile. When do we leave?"

Hound shook his head.

"This is a bad idea. You're not supposed to even be on _light_ duties yet."

"Two groons." Mirage told him, his gaze piercing. "I'll collect you from here so you can get some more charge - what do you want from stores?"

Hound threw up his hands in exasperation and stalked out of the room. Jazz looked at his companion.

"You two fall out?"

"Our relationship has nothing to do with this."

"It does if you're gonna be distracted when we're goin' into Con Central."

Mirage shook his head.

"He has it stuck in his processor Curveball's trying to get you killed. He's being quite unreasonable about it."

"If CB wanted me dead, I'd be dead already - he's got my suicide code, remember?" he shrugged, unconcerned. "Now. About these supplies."

* * *

Prowl stood over the corpse, watching as the senior medtech did an impromptu autopsy.

"This one's the same, sir." he reported after a moment.

Prowl nodded, waving a hand for a couple of the others to take the mess away, then turned to the waiting scout.

"I want one alive. Don't take risks, plan it as much as you need to, but bring me a prisoner."

"One of these, sir?"

"Yes. One of these."

"Yes sir."

What were they, Prowl wondered, walking stiffly over to where the wounded were being treated.

They were branded with the Decepticon symbol but they were all of the same model and it was not one that anyone here recognised. Their alt mode was some kind of cumbersome glider, completely inappropriate for the thin atmosphere here, and they were all armed identically with twin arm lasers, a single over-the-shoulder rocket launcher and a clutch of concussion grenades.

They currently made up more than ninety percent of the siege force.

After noting that the Decepticon casualties were invariably of this model and analysing their tactics he had been half-convinced they were some kind of high-tech new generation drone. But the three 'samples' they had pulled in had all had spark chambers set in their chests under the heavy armour, and they had all greyed on deactivation.

If they were sparked, they were not drones.

Heavy armour, he mused as he returned a salute to a sniper with pain-bright optics who was having a leg removed at the knee after a heat missile had gotten through and literally melted his pede to the mech next to him. The other victim had not survived. Another casualty to note on the tally.

Heavy armour, he reminded himself as he moved on. Too heavy. These... whatever they were... had no sensation in their arms, legs or torso. Only their hands, pedes and heads had tactile sensors so losing an arm or leg would not faze them: they would literally feel no pain.

That information had been passed on to the troops who were now aiming specifically for those vulnerable points. It would mean they could not function as normal mecha in day to day life, nor even very well in their alt modes, but in close combat they were formiddable.

In fact the only reason why so many of them were falling to Prowl's team's fire was because they were not designed to handle a siege situation and they were too stupid to use their inbuilt advantages.

The medtech had discovered that their core processor was barely a third of the normal size for a mech of their stature. It would take a proper analysis to confirm it, but his best guess was that these mechs had been given processors barely adequate for the average drone.

No-one would volunteer for such an indignity, Prowl was sure, even under the dubious Decepticon definition of the term.

His initial thought had been that perhaps they were converted prisoners: abhorrent as the concept was, it was a possibility. But the medtech had assured him that a fully activated and matured spark could not be transferred from shell to shell without fading in any case, which meant only sparklings could be used for this process. Preferably newlings who had not yet been in an active frame. Yet how could that be?

Where could they have gotten such a supply of newling sparks?

The last key to Vector Sigma had been lost a few short centuries into the war, and he understood that the computer itself had been buried under rubble during one of the attacks. Granted, the Decepticons had control of most of Cybertron, but he had not heard any news of massive troop number increases on Cybertron as there should have been if they were activated there. And if they _had_ regained access to Vector Sigma, why would they waste the sparks on drone frames no matter how solidly built when they could have fully functional soldiers?

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"There's a free charging port at the generator right now."

He considered declining the offer: he needed to solve this riddle, and sooner rather than later. Still, it was sensible to rest while he had the time.

"Thank you. I will charge for one joor. Have someone interrupt me if the situation changes, or if we take any prisoners."

Perhaps some charge would actually help him focus better. He hoped that Jazz, wherever he was, was sensible enough to do the same.


	15. Part 3: Near misses, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3, chapter 5 of 5

Jazz pushed his engine to screaming, forcing his alt mode to its top speed, and fled.

Faster, faster, but not fast enough. Dodging laser bolts close enough to blister his paint. Wrenching himself around a corner he had temporary cover from a bridge above and he made the best use of it he could, but they were close and they were skilled.

A triple-toned chime gave him hope and he veered left. Rubble blocked his way, but he transformed and somersaulted over it then transformed back, snarling curses at the strain all of this was putting on his still-mending arm.

Faster, he had to go faster.

Notes on his HUD told him how far he was from his goal and offered alternative routes, estimated how many pursuers he had and how far back they were. He ignored all of it - he had could not spare the focus to process any of it.

A second signal, this time two low notes then a long high one. Close, he was so close.

A ground-bound Decepticon appeared out of an alleyway ahead of him, trying to block him off. He transformed again, rifle in his hand without thought, rolled, shot, transformed, kept moving.

Now there was a new signal on his HUD, one not so easy to ignore, an urgent warning that his energy levels were dropping dangerously low. In any normal mech it would have signalled imminent stasis lock, but he had programs to handle that: he would use up every last erg of energy then collapse and die rather than drop into helpless stasis where the enemy could capture him.

Three brief notes, a harmonising tone, then a chord. Gasping, he transformed one last time and flung himself recklessly off the edge of the road into one of the many deep chasms in Cybertron's surface. As he fell, he saw laser bolts skim past him: the winged enemies still pursued.

He offlined his optics.

If they paused to aim, there would be nothing that could save him. He had no flight capabilities, he could not dodge, could not even turn to fire back at them. His energy levels now dropped below the normal stasis threshold and he shut down every system he could in order to remain conscious.

A little further and he would be safe.

If not...

Well, no-one lived forever.

* * *

Talking to it was not working.

The medic asked and since there seemed no other option Prowl agreed, granting his permission for the next stage. He was reduced to referring to the captured Decepticon as 'it' since there was no indication as to whether it was mech or femme. Mech, probably, but that was not an assumption he chose to make.

The captive did not seem to understand spoken Cybertronian. It snarled at them in a strange mix of binary click and meaningless sonic bursts interspersed with almost-words that closely resembled pungeant curses.

"Removing the language protocols would make it easier to fit in the important core components without increasing the processor size." the medtech commented as he continued with his work.

"So they understand nothing at all?"

"Probably a limited set of commands so the Cons could keep them under control. Ah. Definitely a sparkling."

"You can tell that so easily?" Prowl asked, moving slightly closer to look into where the enemy's spark chamber had been cut open.

The idea of doing this with the captive still online utterly shocked him but the medtech had assured him that the shortage of sensors meant that it was in no pain, and certainly the prisoner had not reacted to the obscene intrusion. As for the cutting, it appeared that the chamber had been welded shut so this was the only way.

Looking down, he saw a silvery mist swirling within the heavily shielded black box. This was what a spark looked like?

"See how the spark is almost transparent? A mature spark is opaque and darker in colour because the core is solid energy, but a juvenile spark is... well, wispy. Translucent. No mistaking it. This one, well I'm no expert but I'd say it's no more than a few decades old. Also..."

The medtech paused, peering at it, then stirring it a little with a tool protruding from his finger. Feeling queasy Prowl quickly looked away, fighting the urge to cover his own chest with his hands to protect against such a casual intrusion into that intimate area.

"Also?" he prompted.

"Well like I say, I'm no expert, but I'd say it's too small. It _looks_ like a split spark, but I've never heard that with a sparkling. Splits only come from mature mecha, but then there would be fragments of solidified core in here, and there aren't."

Prowl looked back at him, careful not to look down.

"You're suggesting that they are taking newly created sparks and splitting them, then inserting them into pre-programmed drone shells?" he asked slowly.

"What? No. Can't be done. They'd never form properly. I don't know what it means, maybe he's just been starved so long his spark's faltering. Or maybe he's just always had a dim spark..."

"Sir! Communication from Sky Lynx just got through. He's bringing reinforcements."

"I'm on my way." he nodded, but kept his gaze on the medtech. "Close it up again and have it guarded - I want it brought back aboard. And don't talk to anyone about this. As you say, it may be an aberration."

He wished he could believe that himself, but now that the suggestion had been made it made too much sense. If the new sparks were being split across multiple forms it would explain the sudden massive increase in available troops. After all, Vector Sigma would only grant so many sparks at a time, but if those sparks were to be divided up it was a completely different situation.

This was information he had to get back to Quickquadrant.

* * *

Jazz groaned as he forced his optics to focus, then sighed.

"Wakin' me up _again_ , Hound? Can't ya let an injured mech rest for just a few clicks?"

"You've been offline for almost three full orns. We tried to put you into stasis, but it wasn't working and Raj said you'd probably been tampering with your programming again. You know what Ratchet'll say if he finds out."

"He ain't gonna find out." Jazz mumbled. "Didja get the data?"

"Yeah. Raj dredged you when you came back on board. You don't remember?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Last thing I remember's fallin'."

"Well we caught you and got out of there, but you wouldn't go offline until you'd dumped the data. Except you were too far gone to drop it onto a pad or crystal, so Mirage hooked up."

"Good thing he was there, then."

"That's what you said at the time." Hound sighed. "Anyway, you know you're back with us now, so go back offline and we'll get the medics to take you in again and get you sorted out."

Jazz frowned, something not adding up.

"Hey, wait. We weren't that far away from the _Fantalex_ , how come it's takin' us so long t'get back?"

"We've been staying out to give you time to recover. Returning you to the medics with new dents and scratches is one thing. Doing it with you exhausted and with all your defences up is something else."

"Oh. Thanks, Hound."

The scout sighed.

"Don't mention it. Just stop giving Raj ideas, okay?"

Jazz smiled but was too tired to banter and let himself drop back into blissful unawareness.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Prowl shuffled through the corridors with his doorwings drooping down, not caring who saw him looking so dissheveled.

He was tired. Six straight orns of directing combat, two more of being grilled over his hypotheses and actions while the reinforcement commanders routed the Decepticons, then an all-too-short nap before having to report before the entire command complement.

Quickquadrant had been ready to entirely dismiss his theory about the split newling sparks, and Prowl could hardly blame him since he had no evidence because the commander who had taken over had immediately shot his prisoner, but then Curveball had spoken up to say that his own agents had confirmed it just a few groons earlier.

So then he was 'honoured' by being asked to stay for the discussions that followed. At least until Ratchet had noticed he was drifting into stasis where he sat and ordered him to rest.

Sometime later he might actually be embarrassed by that, he thought distantly. Not right now though. Right now he was too tired to care about anything but getting to his berth.

Hearing muttered curses from around the corner, he frowned. That sounded like Jazz, but he had never heard the other mech sound so irritable. Rounding the corner himself, he found his roommate glaring at the code panel, leaning heavily against the wall and looking at least as worn out as Prowl felt himself.

"Oh." Prowl muttered, realising the problem. "The code."

Jazz looked up and spotted him.

"Thank Primus. Will ya get this slaggin' door open before I fall over here?"

"I thought you'd be able to break the new code." he admitted, moving forward to type in the correct access code.

"I designed it so it couldn't be hacked."

"Even by you?" Prowl asked as the door opened, letting Jazz go through first.

"Oh, sure I could do it if I had a few groons to waste on it. Why in the name o'the Unmaker did ya change it _now_?"

Prowl stared at him blankly, finding it was too much effort to think back that far.

"I... don't remember."

Jazz snorted, flopping gracelessly onto the berth.

"Figures. Just remember to tell me what it is, later."

"Of course." Prowl agreed, sinking down onto his own berth. "Welcome back."

"Ngh. Be polite later. Lights _off_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 3.


	16. Part 4: Role reversal, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, chapter 1 of 5

Jazz slunk unhappily into the office and dropped unwillingly into the available seat, dejected.

He had tried every trick he had ever learned to overcome the obstacles in his latest mission with no success: the base inhabitants were riled up and ready to shoot anyone unfamiliar or even anyone acting slightly out of character. Passwords were being changed frequently and irregularly and so were rostered duties. He had witnessed the shooting of an officer who was drunk and used an old code; they were taking no chances.

He was good at his job, but this level of paranoia was impossible to work with. The mission to infiltrate Darkmount had to be put on hold.

"I'm sorry, CB. I tried. I just couldn't do it."

"Tell me another one."

"It's the truth."

"There's always a way."

"Not right now, an' not soon again, either. Sure, if we can get a sleeper agent in we can get a result in a vorn or two..."

"We don't have a vorn or two." Curveball snapped. "We need to deal with this now. _Right_ now. Prime's having fits over these abominations: they're tearing up too many of our troops, and mowing them down like drones doesn't make him feel any better since some _idiot_ told him they were newlings. He wants the factories shut down, and for that we need information. Now."

"It ain't that easy." Jazz frowned back. "And throwin' more lives at it ain't the answer - how many more agents can we afford to lose? We've lost ten in the last two vorns! Ten!"

"You shot one of those."

"Doesn't change the fact that we're short-staffed and it's getting worse." Jazz retorted. "Okay, so Filigree wouldn'ta stayed on board even if he'd made it through that one, but Greenlight? Circumflex? Primus below, boss, they weren't rookies! It ain't carelessness getting mecha like that killed, it's unreasonable missions with not enough planning or back up and..."

"Who the pit do you think you're talking to? I _created_ this unit. I've planned every mission you've ever been on!"

"Then you should know what I'm talkin' about!"

"And _you_ should know there's no such thing as back up or detailed planning on these missions or else we could just hand them over to the army to deal with! I have a force of professionals who can think for themselves, or so I thought."

"Professionals you're wastin' by sendin' on suicide runs an' I'm sick of it. I ain't doin' it anymore."

"Oh, so you'll refuse a mission then?"

"I ain't goin' in unless there's _some_ good in me at least dyin' tryin'!"

"Fine. Go away and send Mirage in here."

"Oh slag you. Raj can't do this."

"Mirage is the best spy I've got."

"Yeah he is, but that ain't what you need right now an' he's a fraggin' awful infiltrator."

"So now you're questioning his skills as well as my judgement?"

"Don't be obtuse, you know what I mean."

There was a brief silence as they glared at each other, then Curveball grunted.

"Obtuse. Fancy word. That room mate of yours is rubbing off on you. Shame he's not letting you rub off on _him_ , eh?"

"Crude insults won't shift me. We can't do this."

"I can't _not_ do it!"

"Why not? You're the Chief of Spec-Ops. _Tell_ Prime it can't be done."

"When I've spent the last five hundred vorns telling him _anything_ can be done?"

"Oh anything can be done." Jazz threw up his hands. "Doesn't mean it's clever. Doesn't mean it can be done quietly, or it _should_ be done, or no-one'll die _gettin'_ it done. He won't like that, will he? Well too bad. Tell'im. And if he doesn't wanna hear it, tell him _Meister_ says so."

He rose and headed for the door.

"You're not irreplaceable, Jazz." Curveball warned.

"I'm not." he agreed over his shoulder. "Meister is. Find someone else to be him. I quit."

* * *

Prowl heard the door open and raised a hand in greeting without actually looking up. It could only be Jazz, after all, and surprise over his roommate's unpredictable returns had faded after the first dozen times. Reacting got them nowhere: Jazz would not discuss his work, and the awkwardness was unnecessary.

"There's some oil in the cupboard if you're hungry." he commented, consulting his notepad to check another detail.

Jazz paused by the desk.

"Whatcha workin' on?"

"An in-the-field communications standard. It was an idea I had awhile ago but haven't had time to get back to it until now. I put in an outline yesterday and..." he paused to add another reference. "...and Broadcast wanted the proposal written up."

"Huh. Aren't you supposed to do that stuff in your on-duty time? I thought your shift finished already?"

Prowl sighed.

"I just can't get everything done in the shift. There's just too much to do."

"Maybe you're tryin' t'do too much." Jazz suggested, settling on top of the chest at the end of his berth and idly sifting through the music files there.

"Says the mech who returns from most of his missions nearly in stasis."

"Hey, that's one thing I don't want you learnin' from me." Jazz protested.

"A little late to tell me that at this stage."

Jazz grinned at him.

"Ah-hah! Now _that_ was a tease."

"Surely not. I have it on good authority that I have no sense of humour at all."

"Yup. Definite sass. You, my good mech, have spent far too much time in bad company."

"In _your_ company."

"I rest my case."

Prowl shook his head, saving his work and setting the pad down.

"Something came up today I wanted to ask you about."

"Don't you ever run out of questions?"

"Not so far. You know we took on a new batch of recruits when we stopped at Kalisi Station?"

"Mm. Frontliners."

"Yes. One of them claims to be looking for his twin brother."

Jazz cocked his head to the side.

"Weird."

"Why?" Prowl asked. "I gathered from the reactions of the others that this is unusual, but not why. Twins are merely a single whole spark that is split in half, are they not?"

"Not really." Jazz frowned. "Don't know much about it m'self - never met a twinned pair."

"But?" Prowl prompted, and Jazz shrugged.

"Well, as I heard it, it happens when two whole sparks emerge together from Vector Sigma. Word is they're activated already bonded."

Prowl frowned.

"As in a love bond?"

"Same concept, sharin' spark energy in a permanent link. I'd be careful about suggestin' to a frontliner that he might be fraggin' his brother, though."

"Love isn't always about sex." Prowl chided him.

"Never said it was. Anyway, what's the story 'bout this one? Twins don't usually let themselves get separated."

"I don't know. He wasn't on the list of assignees, but the shuttle pilot was insistent he was to be dropped off here and left again before we could verify it. Security's furious - apparently he has a reputation for being troublesome - but his official file is filled with commendations for his fieldwork. In any case, the first thing he did when he came aboard was start asking everyone around him if they had seen his twin."

"How long've they been separated?"

"I don't know that either. Is that significant?"

"Could be. The longer it is, the more flaky he's likely to be. Still. Not your problem, eh?"

"No, I suppose not." Prowl paused, finally noting Jazz's preoccupied expression and listless tone. "Are you alright?"

Instantly the mech was smiling at him.

"Yeah, just tired. Might get some charge, eh?"

"I'll leave you in peace, then."

* * *

Jazz sighed as he let the other mech usher him into an empty storeroom and shut the door.

"Hound, I ain't got time for this. I've got work to do."

The scout moved over to him, keeping his voice low.

"Curveball claims you've quit."

"Sure did."

"You can't."

"Watch me."

"He'll kill you." Hound hissed anxiously. "You know he considers desertion as bad as defection."

"Rather die clean here'n let'im throw me to the Cons. You should understand that, you were the one who said he was tryin' it."

"And you said you didn't believe me." Hound protested, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The point is, you can't just walk away from this. He's not going to let it happen."

"Ha. Like I care. But you an' Raj should be careful - he ain't thinkin' straight. Don't go takin' on any missions you shouldn't, you know your jobs, you know what you can do an' what you can't."

Hound stared at him suspiciously.

"Have you been drugging up?"

"I ain't buzzin'."

"Well something's up. Maybe you just need a break. Tell him that. Primus knows you've earned one, you never get any real down time. Go spend some time as a civvy. There are a few places still safe enough, more than safe enough for _you_ anyway. Tell him you'll come back once you've got your systems reset."

"And what if I don't want to? Primus, Hound, I'm just so sick of the whole slaggin' thing. We ain't fixin' anythin', we just make it worse. When I blow up a refinery it ain't the Cons who suffer, it's the prisoners who get shorted. When we find an undefended target the commanders charge in an' attack it, but it's almost always the Con civilians who get caught up in it."

"There's no such thing."

"Oh don't try that wit'me. You know that's all propaganda - the Cons're mecha too, they just chose th'other side. Sure, some of'em're dark-cored, but most're just tryin' t'get by. They got their own reasons. Or maybe they're just in too deep t'know how t'ask for help anymore."

The scout glared at him.

"That's dangerous talk."

"Well if I'm on CB's hitlist already, what's the harm in a bit o'treasonous talk?"

"You're sick, Jazz. You're not thinking clearly. It could be stress - you've been taking on some tough missions lately..."

"I'm thinkin' clearer than I have in awhile." Jazz disputed, then waved his hand dismissively. "Look, just leave me alone, okay? Best you don't get implicated in anything. You an' Raj can go on doin' what you do: I've just had enough. Simple as that."


	17. Part 4: Role reversal, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, chapter 2 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of torture

Prowl flinched a little as the medtech made another adjustment.

"How l-l-long..." he paused until the pain subsided again, "is this meant to be in place?"

Blaster shrugged.

"Don't ask me, mech. All 'Cast said t'me was you wanted a frequency specialist, and I... ow! Primus, be _careful_ with that, will ya?"

The medtech murmured yet another apology but continued undeterred and a moment later Prowl saw a command line appear on his HUD. Initialising the new software, he set it to load in the background and refocused on his new field assistant.

Broadcast had taken his recommendations seriously, but had modified them. He thought it useful to have secure lines in the field, but since the Decepticon second in command, Soundwave, was a communications specialist assigning any frequency for more than a few breems was making it too easy for the enemy. Instead he had changed it to being a suggestion that all commanders should have an assigned communications specialist who could handle high-security encryption. Prime had approved the change in theory but wanted it tested in the field first, so Broadcast had returned to Prowl.

To ensure maximum security each pair was being programmed to recognise the other with hardware installed to run through the identification protocols. It was more than a little peculiar to be linked in this way to a complete stranger, but the medics had been insistent that this was the best way. All it truly did was run a synchronised algorithm to base a constantly shifting encryption on, ensuring that commands could not be intercepted between commander and comms expert before they were sent out.

Blaster's record in communications was impeccable, and on the face of it he seemed an odd choice to be connected like this to a junior tactician rather than one of the senior commanders, but he was also a host. His commitment to his two symbiotes meant that he rarely left Ovacalix. Thus he was of little use to commanders in the field and could be spared for this trial.

The software initialised and he sent a test ping along the channel provided. It received an immediate response. Sending a data packet, he saw the medtech nod.

"That's garbled. Blaster?"

"Comin' through clear t'me. Try sending something bigger."

Prowl considered, then sent a scenario he had been working on. Blaster frowned.

"It didn't work?"

"Oh, yeah, I got it, but I need a terminal to make sense of it. I'm not built for tac processing."

Prowl nodded, about to apologise and try again, then paused.

"Of course, you need not be. You're acting as a filter, not an interpreter."

"Point." Blaster agreed thoughtfully, then grinned. "Well, looks like we're a go for stage two, then. See you at the shuttle bay tomorrow?"

* * *

"Come back to beg for your job back?" Curveball asked as soon as he stepped into the office.

"No. I'm hopin' y'might be ready to see sense. I barely got outta there alive, and that was before they were on alert to us."

"You were careless. If you'd been more careful you could've gotten back in this time."

Jazz clenched his fists.

"I wasn't careless. You sent me in fast to get answers an' I got 'em."

"Barely. The way I hear it, it was just luck you didn't get your aft shot off."

"It ain't up to you to question how I do things so long as I get it done."

"And it isn't up to _you_ to question _me_ when I give you a job to do! Slag it all, Meister, you were my best agent!"

"I sure was." Jazz spat back, all his carefully gathered patience evaporating again. "Which is why I thought you'd _listen_ when I tolja it couldn't be done."

"Well you were wrong."

"That's what you think."

"That's what I _know_. We've got an agent in there now."

Jazz stalled in shock.

"Who?"

"None of your business. Someone willing to find a way, that's all."

He searched his memory quickly for who he knew was available and felt cold as a name made the top of the list.

"Not Raj."

Was that why Hound had come to him?

"No, not Mirage." Curveball growled. "And no I'm not going to play along in your little guessing game trying to figure it out. Go back to your inventory, _Jazz_ \- some of us have important work to do."

* * *

"How many was that?" Diode asked, checking his datapad.

"Sixteen." Prowl reported and Blaster nodded in confirmation.

"Very good. One moment."

He stepped out of the room, and Blaster groaned.

"Whew. Didn't expect this to be so tough. Aw, thanks 'Jaw, that's just what I need."

Prowl accepted the energon stick offered by the thoughtful symbiote and broke off a segment to chew on while he reset the scenario board in front of him.

This whole situation was simulated, with Broadcast himself out there somewhere disrupting communications and trying to break into the encrypted messages along with three other senior specialists. Around that they had to direct multiple separate small units against a force three times their number protecting a bunker, that force directed by Quickquadrant with the Prime himself observing.

Every time they succeeded in breaking the defensive lines of the 'enemy', the situation was made more complicated. They were now up to a total of sixteen teams to direct, nine of which had no communications specialists. Each team had been given an initial frequency and an algorithm to use the end of each message to determine the frequency for the next one.

So far it had worked perfectly.

What would be the next challenge? More teams? An unexpected variable? Several had been thrown in already, but they had coped thus far. Diode returned, still carrying his datapad.

"Would you follow me, please?"

"Well that's new." Blaster remarked.

"Perhaps testing us without the tactical board?" Prowl suggested.

"Testing you, you mean. Makes no difference to me."

Prowl nodded amicably, then stepped off the shuttle to find Broadcast and Quickquadrant both waiting there. He moved to stand to attention, Blaster stopping beside him with Steeljaw at his ankle.

"You two make a very good team - Prime is very impressed." Broadcast told them warmly.

"Of course, the method is somewhat troublesome." Quickquadrant considered. "Having to find communicators who can work that closely with each commander will be challenging. And will be your next assignment, Prowl. Well done."

"Thank you, sir."

The two seniors moved off and Blaster shook his head in open dismay.

"Can't believe they just gave you more admin."

"I am better suited to it than field work." Prowl allowed, simply pleased that Quickquadrant and Optimus had approved of one of his proposals.

"You're too easy satisfied." Blaster scolded him, then shrugged. "Still, what'm I complaining about? This means I get to go home."

"Yes. My thanks for your assistance."

"Any time, my mech. Just holler if you need a hand with anything - I'll be happy to help."

* * *

"I'm busy, Raj." Jazz warned, and smiled faintly as the spy huffed and materialised beside him.

Mirage had never yet figured out how he always knew when the ex-Towers mech was around, and it irritated him. That alone was a small victory, though. Jazz did not want to talk to him now.

"If you're missing some parts from your last order I can help, otherwise..."

"Your replacement at Darkmount got caught."

Jazz stilled, shuttering his optics.

"Dead?"

"Not yet. Silencer's on his way in to try to settle that, but it's going to take time."

There was no hope of a rescue then, merely a plan to put the poor victim out of his misery and end the torture that would be inflicted on a captured infiltrator. The Decepticons could keep their prisoners alive for a long time, given the chance, but it was an existence not worth contemplating; and at Darkmount, it would be the most sadistic of them all taking a personal interest in this case: Shockwave himself.

"Who was it?" he asked dully. "Anyone I know?"

"Techtonic."

Jazz's optics unshuttered and he stared at the shelves in front of him.

"Somethin' must be wrong with my audials, Raj." he said slowly. "I thought you said Techtonic."

"I did."

"But he's just a rookie." Jazz growled, turning to face the spy.

"Was." Mirage corrected. "Curveball said you approved of him being promoted."

"Promoted, but not... Oh that pit spawn. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna slaggin' _dismantle_ 'im!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Ops get mechs killed, you know that as well as anyone. And everyone has to start somewhere."

" _Everyone_ does not start with _Darkmount_!" Jazz hissed, horrified.

"Well perhaps if you had done your job, he would not have had to." Mirage told him coldly.

"What?" Jazz croaked.

"How many more are you going to watch get killed doing jobs only Meister ever managed to pull off? You've set the bar too high. We haven't got anyone else who can do what you do - why do you think he hasn't washed his hands of you already? He's praying you'll come back. And you should. Before you're responsible for anything worse."

His piece said, the former noble turned on his heel and vanished from sight, and for the first time ever Jazz did not bother to track him as he left.


	18. Part 4: Role reversal, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, chapter 3 of 5

Prowl strode along the corridor feeling buoyant.

Finally, _finally_ , he was getting somewhere. Prime himself had seen that he had some useful skills. Yes, he had been given another administrative task for now, but it was progress. He hoped Jazz was in - the mech had been trying to get him to come along to a party for the best part of a vorn and tonight he thought he would accept.

It was time to celebrate.

Grinning to himself, he tapped the code into the door lock and was pleased to see that the light was already on. Opening his mouth to tell Jazz the good news, he choked on his words when he saw the other mech slumped on his berth surrounded by emptied cubes stained by rather unstable-looking high grade.

After a moment to close the door and make sure it was locked, he strode over and stared down at the other mech in disbelief.

"You're drunk."

"Not as drunk as I'm gonna get, b'lieve me."

Prowl took the cube from his hand, setting it firmly down out of reach.

"Your fuel tank is going to purge if you keep on like that."

"Done that already." Jazz slurred. "Didn' help. Need somethin' stronger."

He leaned perilously over the side of the berth into a crate there and drew out another cube, this one a lurid blue colour. Prowl snatched it away before he could drink from it, then gathered up the three remaining full cubes and subspaced them.

"No. No more. You'll kill yourself."

"Like that'd change anythin'." Jazz mumbled fatalistically, then reached up to paw at Prowl's waist, trying to find the subspace release. "Have a spark, Prowler. Y'don't have t'watch, I'll go somewhere else. But gimme back m'booze."

"You've had more than enough."

"Fine." Jazz sighed, letting his head drop dejectedly, then he abruptly swung off the berth. "Guess I'll just have to go find some more."

Prowl grabbed at him to stop him leaving, which was a mistake. He found himself whirled about and pinned firmly to the berth with Jazz straddling his waist and peering down at him, seemingly having surprised even himself.

"Huh." the drunk mech frowned. "Been here before."

"I would very much appreciate it if we could avoid a repeat of that time." Prowl pointed out, struggling to free himself and dismayed to discover that even a badly inebriated Jazz was still a mech in control.

"Not gonna hack ya." Jazz assured him with a gentle pat to his chest, then seemed to become fascinated by his own action. "Might do somethin' else, though."

Prowl gasped as Jazz's hands slid over his chassis in rather a different way.

"What are you doing!"

"What I shoulda done before. You've got no idea how sexy you are, do ya?"

"Jazz, you're d-drunk." Prowl protested, stammering a little as Jazz's fingers rubbed against the lower rims of his headlights.

"Doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doin'."

"I'm not so sure."

Jazz stilled abruptly, looking distraught.

"You want me to stop? I thought... You want me to stop, I'll stop. I'd never force ya. I wouldn't..."

The dismay on his face was more than Prowl could bear and he raised a hand to the other mech's shoulder.

"I don't want you doing anything you're going to regret later. When you're sober."

Jazz swooped down, startling him.

"Wouldn't regret this." he whispered, kissing him tenderly. "Never this."

* * *

Jazz came online to the feel of a warm body in his arms and took a few clicks to wonder where he was. Then he remembered and began to pull away. Arms tightened around his torso.

"It's okay."

He ducked his gaze so he did not have to look at Prowl's earnest expression.

"No it's not, I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay." Prowl insisted.

Jazz sighed, raising a hand to rub at his face.

"Primus. This is embarrassing."

"Which bit? The drinking, the proposition, or the purging?"

Jazz winced.

"Actually," Prowl continued thoughtfully, "I've decided I should be flattered."

"How the frag did you figure that?"

"Well in all the time I've known you, you've always maintained a professional distance."

"Until now."

"It seems that you're trusting me enough to share things you'd normally keep hidden."

Jazz looked up to frown at the chevroned mech.

"That's hardly a good thing in my line o'work."

"Everyone needs someone to vent to sometimes - you're too hard on yourself. You tell me I shouldn't feel guilty for the mechs who die when I had a plan that might have saved them if only someone had listened and let me try it. Don't be a hypocrit."

"When'd you get so wise, Prowler?" Jazz sighed.

"Don't change the subject." Prowl chided him. "Techtonic's death wasn't your fault."

He flinched. Just how much had he said?

"It shoulda been me. I shoulda taken the mission."

"And gotten yourself killed."

"Maybe I coulda pulled it off. He was good, but so new..."

"How many times have you actually turned down a mission?"

"That ain't the point."

"How many?"

Jazz shook his head, refusing to answer, and Prowl nodded decisively.

"Never until this one. So perhaps you had good reason to refuse. And perhaps Curveball should have deferred to your expertise."

"An' perhaps you should stop speculatin'."

"I'm only repeating what you told me."

Jazz winced again.

"Did I? Frag."

Prowl finally let go, sitting up to look down at him.

"You also told me that mechs in your line of work can't be worrying about the future or fretting about the past, only accepting the present as it exists from moment to moment and enjoying what you can of it."

"I'm sure I didn't put it like that."

"No, but that's what you meant. So."

"So?" Jazz echoed as Prowl rose and began collecting up the datapads from his desk and subspacing them.

"So go and enjoy the moment. _Without_ drinking. Go be Jazz for awhile. I'm sure there's a party starting somewhere, there always is on this ship. Go dance or sing or find someone to share a berth with."

"Someone not you?" Jazz asked somberly.

Prowl did not seem to hear, leaving and closing the door behind himself.

* * *

Prowl walked sedately through the halls, nodding to acquaintances and slipping confidently through the small crowds who inevitably congregated in the accommodation section between shifts. He passed three rooms where music was playing loud enough to be heard through the closed door which was against regulations, but he was off duty and walked on until he reached the washracks.

The facilities were quiet at this time mid-way through the shift, and he had no trouble finding an unoccupied private booth. Closing the door he turned on the cleansing fluid dispenser and shifted to ensure it thoroughly soaked him, then he stilled, staring at the drain in the floor.

The events of the past few groons were almost too surreal to believe. Finding Jazz so inebriated he had already purged and was still drinking steadily. Finding the indefatigable mech so upset he could not even conceal it.

That last had frightened him. He knew almost nothing about special operations, but he could imagine that on a mission displaying distress like that could easily get Jazz killed.

Jazz's initial clumsy proposition had not alarmed him, particularly since Jazz seemed barely half aware of who he was talking to. But with the way his hands had moved so intimately and the murmured confessions between his kisses, Prowl had begun to doubt. Jazz loved him? Just pillow talk, surely? And yet it hardly seemed the kind of comment to take casually.

"He doesn't love me." he reminded himself aloud. "He likely doesn't even remember saying it."

He was not sure what he would think now if matters had gotten any more involved at that point, but as it was Jazz had spoiled the mood thoroughly by abruptly lurching onto the floor and purging the contents of his tank, then sobbing and ranting.

It had taken a while to piece together the incoherently-told story, but he thought he had it now.

It started with a high-danger mission that Jazz had turned down leading to an argument between him and Curveball and the volatile ex-Decepticon taking umbrage. That was why Jazz had been so available recently: he had actually quit his job with the unit, and most of the others he usually worked with were shunning him. But Curveball had gone ahead with the mission anyway, using this new agent Techtonic instead.

Whether the mech was young in vorns or merely in experience was unclear, but Jazz clearly felt somewhat protective of the rookie. And before he had even finished assimilating the news that this unprepared novice had been sent in his place, Mirage had turned up to tell him Techtonic had been captured.

Not killed - Jazz belaboured that point for several breems - no, not killed, but captured. Which meant...

Well, what it actually meant was left entirely to his own imagination because Jazz seemed unwilling to vocalise what he was thinking, but it was clear this was not a good thing.

Eventually Jazz had collapsed, exhausted, and Prowl had cleaned everything up then dragged Jazz back up onto the berth. And that was when Jazz's arms had crept around his waist and held on tight for comfort while he keened for the loss of a mech whose given designation he did not even know.

Prowl sighed, reaching out to turn on the rinse cycle and shuttering his optics. The question bothering him was not so much whether Jazz loved him as whether _he_ loved _Jazz_. It was not something he had considered before.

He had heard the jokes and whispered comments that they must be lovers if they were roommates but had never given them much credence. After all, such conclusions were based on a knowledge of the character Jazz portrayed as his cover. It was not really him any more than Prowl himself was Praxian in anything other than frame design and programmed speech patterns.

It had been several vorns before he started to realise the enormity of what Jazz had done by taking the risk of telling him the truth about his occupation, and he genuinely meant what he said about being flattered: Jazz had trusted him with very little since that time. That Jazz felt safe enough to tell him all of this spoke volumes both about the levels of trust he had, and about how upset he was.

"Was it trust, though, or love?" he mumbled to himself as the drying cycle began automatically, the loud fans masking his words. "And what do I want to do if it's the latter?"


	19. Part 4: Role reversal, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, chapter 4 of 5

Hidden amongst the shelves he watched Prowl enter the storage room, hoping the mech was simply looking for supplies. He hoped in vain. Prowl navigated the maze of shelves easily and walked straight up to him, folding his arms and frowning.

"You're avoiding me."

"There's been a lotta work on."

"Not so much, really. You've been volunteering for double-shifts: I checked. Safestore thinks you've glitched, you're spending so much time down here."

Jazz shrugged.

"There's work to do, an' I can do it. Keepin' busy's good."

"So is drinking. In moderation."

Jazz gave up on the pretence of counting rivets and looked across at his roommate.

"I'm thinkin' we should stop this whole teacher-student thing we got goin'. I ain't a good role model an' you're fittin' in just fine now. Y'don't need me anymore."

"That's hardly true, but in any case it's irrelevant. I enjoy your company."

"Everyone enjoys my company, Prowler. It's part o'the job."

"I enjoy your company most when you're not acting."

Jazz sighed and leaned heavily against the shelves. Prowl saw through the disguise even when he was actively using it. He had lost his touch.

Prowl leaned forward, probably concerned, and Jazz opened his mouth to start finding the words to reassure him but was startled when Prowl kissed him.

"What the frag!" he stumbled back a step, rivets spilling and clattering over the floor, loud in the quiet of the room.

Prowl cocked his head to one side, his lips twitching towards a smile.

"I've had time to think about what you said and what you did. Or rather what you intended to do, had you not been so overenergised. I'd like to try it out and see where it goes."

"Y'ain't tellin' me you've got a rape fantasy."

"You weren't going to hurt me." Prowl stated confidently. "You wouldn't do that."

Jazz glared at him, backing up another step and waggling a finger in warning.

"Don't start t'presume what I would an'wouldn't do. You ain't got the faintest idea."

"I have some idea." Prowl countered. "But if you managed to stay your hand back when we first met I doubt I'm at any more risk now. Besides, you're an Autobot. What you may pretend to be elsewhere is irrelevant, this is what you are."

"Prowl, I was drunk outta my processor. Whatever I said, you can't just go believin' it."

"Who said this was about you? _I_ want this." He turned away. "I'll see you after shift. Don't be late."

* * *

Prowl found his office door open when he returned from his discussion with Jazz and he could not help but sigh when he saw who waited within. It seemed he spent an inordinate amount of his time dealing with the chaos this mech generated seemingly without effort, and not for the first time he wondered if there was any hope that that might ever change.

"What did you do this time?" he asked, walking inside.

"I didn't do anything." Sideswipe protested.

"If you did nothing, it hardly seems likely you would be sent here for yet another reprimand. Nor," he added as he turned on his terminal, "would there be three reports with your designation in the header. That's a new record, I think. Annoying Ratchet and Livewire and _Beachcomber_ with the same prank?"

The geologist was remarkably tolerant in most situations - for him to be upset enough to write up a formal complaint made this unusual.

"Wheeljack thought it was funny." Sideswipe mumbled.

"I'm sure he did." Prowl mused, looking over the reports and reassessing the situation.

In fact it was a relatively minor matter compared to some of his recent creativity. All three report writers claimed that it was an important meeting that had been disrupted, but given the time, location and list of those affected Prowl had strong suspicions that what had actually been disrupted was a round of illicit gambling. These mechs complaining had no doubt lost, and had found a convenient excuse.

Which was a matter to investigate later. He still had to deal with Sideswipe now.

Brig time seemed to have no effect on the moody toughline warrior. Extra duty shifts were no deterrent. Detailed or complex work was never completed to standard, and boredom led to even more spectacular rule breaches.

"Anyway, how was I supposed to know they were having this big top secret meeting?"

"You should not have been in that area of the ship in the first place."

"Nobody told me it was off limits. I was just exploring. Any word yet on when we're heading to the Corex sector?"

Prowl looked up at him dubiously.

"Has it occurred to you that continually causing trouble is not endearing you to the crew and is making it far less likely that anyone would consider any request you made?"

Sideswipe looked chastened, but Prowl waved a hand irritably.

"Don't try that on me again. If your brother is still out there, he will be found eventually."

"He is still alive." Sideswipe told him earnestly. "I know he is."

"The twin-bond tells you so."

"Yeah."

"Then we have time to find him. Now as to this latest infraction..."

"Aw come on, it was nothing."

"You cut power to half the science deck for almost a full breem and shorted out the doors so that those working there had to be retrieved by security."

"Yeah, but it was an accident."

"An accident you had while in an area you were unauthorised for, and doing something as yet unexplained with the wiring behind the third deck rec room."

"I was just trying to... uh..."

"Yes?"

"Actually, you'd probably rather not know."

He stared helplessly at the other mech.

Sideswipe was several times his own age, but acted more like a sparkling than he had ever done himself. If it were not for his proven record out in the field he would likely have been exiled vorns ago. Perhaps he would settle once this twin of his was located? He would ask Blaster to put out some queries - the communications mech had connections everywhere.

"Uh, Prowl? You still online?"

"You're restricted to quarters for the next five orns except when on shift."

That would give him time to think of a more suitable punishment for the inevitable next infraction.

"What! Please, Primus, no. Can't I just...?"

"Dismissed."

* * *

Jazz watched the chronometer on his HUD click over to the end of shift and put down his datapad. The past three groons of thinking had helped him to rationalise, and he knew what he was going to do.

Things were clearer now, as cliche as that sounded.

Prowl had indeed been waiting for him in their quarters at the end of his previous workshift, and it had been...

Well, in truth it had been downright awkward.

He had not been in the mood for seduction, and Prowl was unlikely to have tolerated it if he had pretended otherwise. But nor was Prowl ready to back down, in spite of his acknowledged inexperience. And he did owe the young mech something for letting that fragger Deltaray be his first.

Afterwards they had talked for a long time, beginning with Prowl insisting that this was not serious. No commitments.

That was certainly a relief: the last thing he needed was for the mech to fall for him, especially since his own feelings were far less casual than he cared to admit.

The idea was ridiculous anyway, he reminded himself, heading down the corridor and nodding to a few friends. Prowl was bound to be promoted sometime soon and would be shifted into the officers' section. So he might as well enjoy the company while he had it, and then let the young tactician move on.

Reaching the corridor he wanted he saw Mirage spot him and start to approach, but he did not acknowledge the spy and simply walked into the office he had arrived at. The mech behind the desk raised his head.

"What're you doing here?"

"We gotta talk. If this mission really needs doin', then we gotta find a way t'get it done an' I'm the only one who can do it."

Curveball folded his arms, glowering.

"Still arrogant, aren't you? Why the change of spark?"

"I haven't changed. I told you it couldn't be done fast, an' it can't. It's gonna need some set up. Vorns o'setup, probably. But set it up right, an' yeah, it can get done."

"Delays won't fix anything."

"They will if it means we get the data Prime needs. Rushin' it hasn't been gettin' you anywhere."

Curveball grunted sourly.

"So it's not about you finally screwing that pretty Praxian of yours?"

Jazz knew the comment was just a deflection from having to concede that he had been wrong, and was almost sure Curveball was only guessing about the developments in his relationship with Prowl, but there was no point in trying to hide it so he did not bother.

"It's about not wantin' to see you throw away any more rookies on missions they don't deserve. An' about you an' me actin' like professionals about this. Shoutin' at each other ain't gettin' anythin' done."

"Why should I take you back? You flaked out. How can I trust you won't do it again? On mission next time, maybe?"

"You don't have any other choice." Jazz reminded him simply. "An' neither do I."

"You've got that right, at least." Curveball grunted at the latter statement, then dropped his arms and reached over to a cabinet behind the desk to pull out some high grade. "Alright. Lets hear it, then. I'm listening."

* * *

Prowl stared down at the datapad without really seeing it, lost in thought.

At first this had been an academic exercise, a logic puzzle that was solved by deciding that love - or at least lust - was the answer. But now that seemed too simplistic.

He had been grateful to Jazz for a long time. Apart from the confusion of their initial meeting he had always felt he could trust Jazz - something which he readily acknowledged was entirely illogical, given what Jazz did for the army and what he had done to Prowl himself. Nevertheless, without Jazz's assistance he would have been caught out by now, he was sure. Instead he was now within reach of his original goal.

"This all of it?"

He looked up to see a bulky storesmech hefting a crate.

"Yes, that is all. Thank you."

"No problem, sir."

The timing was more than a little poor, he mused as he did a final visual search of the room for anything he might have missed. The new twist to his relationship with Jazz was going to be complicated by having separate quarters halfway across the ship from each other. Not impossible, but harder to keep quiet.

Nothing left. Everything else in here belonged to Jazz, even the desk he had claimed as his own for work. He paused beside it, glancing again at the datapad full of music lying there innocently on the empty surface.

Something to come back and collect later.

* * *

Jazz headed back towards his quarters, feeling ambivalent. It was good to be back on track with Curveball again and to have a mission to carry out - one that might even be survivable, as opposed to the mess that had been suggested before - but he was slightly worried about how Prowl would take the news.

He had clearly said far too much when he had been drinking, and Prowl would fret. The timing was poor given the new dynamic between them, though in that he felt less guilt: he had been clear that it could only ever be a casual thing and Prowl had claimed to understand that. He would likely be disappointed when it ended this soon, but he would be pragmatic about it. That was Prowl, after all: pragmatic and logical about everything.

Stepping in through the just-opened door his thoughts stalled as he took in the changes. Items that should have been there were gone. In particular, items from one side of the room. It would not have been entirely obvious to many others because Prowl had very few possessions and hid most of those away, but Jazz knew what he was seeing.

Prowl was gone.

Checking the noticeboards, he found the answer. Prowl had been promoted to the rank of Junior Officer (Tactical). He would have been moved to the Officers' Hall and into quarters there.

"About time." Jazz told the empty room, then shook his head at his own wistful tone. "It's easier this way. Better. Now stop mopin' an' go congratulate him."

As he turned he saw something out of place. Or rather, _in_ place. A file of music, lying on the otherwise bare desk.

For a moment he was tempted to leave it there. It was undoubtedly an excuse for Prowl to come back. But that was unnecessary now that he would be off ship himself.

He held it for a moment, then subspaced it.

"'S a good place t'break it." he told himself firmly, taking one last look around to confirm that there were no other items 'accidentally' left behind, then walked out.


	20. Part 4: Role reversal, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, chapter 5 of 5

"Nice place you've got here."

Prowl jumped in startlement and nearly dropped the datapads he was carrying, staring at the figure lounging on the berth. On _his_ berth.

"Jazz! How did you get in here? The door was locked."

Jazz snorted.

"As if that's s'posed t'stop _me_. I told'ya what I do for a livin'."

"It stopped you getting back into _your_ quarters not all that long ago." Prowl pointed out, setting the datapads down his new desk, shuffling them into priority order.

"Ah, but that was _my_ door." Jazz argued. "I've spent vorns tinkerin' wit' that lock t'make it that way. This one, even a sparkling could decode."

"Now that's reassuring." Prowl grunted, then finished his task and turned towards him. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to tell you. It all happened so fast."

"Ech, not a problem. I'm pleased for ya, Prowler. Took'em long enough t'notice you know what you're talkin' about."

"But the timing is simply dreadful as far as our relationship is concerned." Prowl fretted.

"What relationship?" Jazz asked innocently. "I told ya before - y'don't need a waste o'parts glitch like me holdin' ya back."

"You're not holding me back."

"Wait til y'new officer buddies figure it out, an' start thinkin' twice before promotin' ya. Then you'll get it. Anyway." He sat up, swinging his legs idly against the side of the berth. "It ain't like we've got all that much history. We've had a bit o'fun an' that's cool, but that's all."

"No-one's ever made me feel the way you do."

Jazz gave an apologetic smile.

"Not t'put too fine a point on it, Prowler, but it ain't like I've had a whole lotta competition. Or much of go at provin' it, either. Nah, you're better off wit'out me. Besides, I ain't gonna be around all that much for awhile."

"You've asked for a reassignment?"

"Went back t'CB an' called a truce. I'm off t'do what I shoulda been doin' already."

Prowl froze.

"The mission that killed Techtonic?"

"Somethin' like that. Way I figure it, I'll either get it done or prove it _can't_ be done. Either way, it's a win for the cause, right?"

Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment, trying not to overreact. This was the kind of life Jazz lived, he knew that. And he had been encouraging him to go and talk to Curveball. It was just that his memory kept skipping back to how he had felt when he was told that Deltaray was dead.

"You okay, Prowler? Y'ain't gonna fritz out on me, are ya?"

"Will anyone bother to tell me if you... if it goes wrong?"

Jazz shifted a little, considering before he gave an answer.

"I'll get Hound to." he said finally. "He an' Raj'll hear as early as anyone, an' he'll be discreet. An' he'd still do me the favour, even if Raj's still mad at me. It's better this way, y'know. You an' me: it just wouldn't work."

"So you keep saying." Prowl commented, opening his optic shutters again.

"Yeah, well I know what I'm talkin' about. Well, I'd better be off. Leave ya t'settle in an' all. Oh, by the way, y'forgot this. I changed the lock code, so you wouldn't be able t'get back in for it now anyway. Decided I didn't wanna risk CB givin' me another surprise roommate."

He held out the datapad Prowl had left in their previously shared quarters and for a moment all Prowl could do was stare at it. But then he raised his hand and accepted it and Jazz nodded.

"So that's that, then. Take care o'youself, eh?"

Prowl looked down at the pad he was now holding, then back up again.

"Are you on such a tight schedule?"

"Nah. But it's best, I think."

"I don't."

"Prowler, I just told ya..."

"I don't care. When you're gone there'll be nothing I can do, but I'm not ready to end this yet. Please. Stay?"

* * *

_Epilogue_

"So you're telling me this isn't love?"

"'S'right. This is just sex."

"Then what is love?"

Jazz shifted a little until Prowl was settled more comfortably against his side.

"Love's for stories, Prowler. Ain't no space for it with the war on, an' even if there were, I'm in ops. No tellin' how long we've got."

Prowl's lips quirked in a smile.

"Yet you still say 'we' and not 'I'."

"Pedant."

"Even so."

Jazz shook his head.

"I've been there before, more'n once, thinkin' I was in love. Coupla times I nearly even made it formal, thought I couldn't live without'em, but it always all just fell apart after awhile. An' that was when things were simpler. Before the war."

"Ah yes." Prowl nodded, his thoughtful tone turning teasing. "So long ago. I forgot how ancient you are."

"Everythin's old to you, _Sparkles_." Jazz growled back.

"Don't call me that."

"Why?"

"Oh so you like the thought of molesting underage mecha?" Prowl asked archly. "This would've gotten you locked up before the war."

"Not this." Jazz disputed, kissing the top of his helm. "Just if it got serious."

"Just if it were love."

"Prowler..."

"I've never understood that." the younger mech complained. "It wasn't illegal for younglings to sparkshare, just for it to happen regularly with the same partner?"

"Well younglings need a bit o'time t'make up their mind I guess." Jazz shrugged. "It'd be awful to go through the whole sparkmate ritual only to break up a century or two later, right?"

"So instead they promote promiscuity?"

"Hey, no-one said all the old laws made any sense."

"Hmph. Well it's just a good thing I'm not as indecisive as the average sparkling."

"Yeah well you can just stop right there on that one. This ain't gonna work - you gotta know that. You're a junior officer now an' well on the track to the high ranks. Me, I'm just a grunt with a dubious reputation who'll just hold ya back."

"Don't do that. Don't put yourself down."

"Hey, I'll have you know I put a lotta effort inta maintainin' that rep."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Without you I'd never be where I am now."

"Lyin' around in th'berth in th'middle o'the orn? I'd guess not. Then again if I wasn't here maybe you'd've found someone more your rank. Ooh, you might even've followed that traditional promotion path of fraggin' your way to the top! Now _that_ would've been somethin' t'see."

Prowl twisted around to glare at him.

"Be serious for a moment. Without your help I might still be on Ovacalix going through basic training. Or out in the front line getting shot at and not able to use any of the programming I was activated with. Or someone might even have discovered the truth of my age and sent me to one of the youngling centres until my majority."

"Just cause I'm doin' the job your mentor shoulda done doesn't mean y'owe me anythin'."

"This isn't about debt." Prowl sighed, leaning his chin on Jazz's shoulder. "I'm doing this because I think I love you."

"Well you're wrong."

"Then in time I'll find that out. In the meantime, I will trust the evidence in front of me. There's nothing else I can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 4.


	21. Part 5: Changes, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 1 of 6

An alert popped up on Prowl's HUD, startling him out of his focused analysis. It was now two full groons past the time he should have turned everything off and gone back to his quarters yet here he was still working. A circumstance that was becoming rather familiar.

Electing to ignore it just one more time, he reset the alert to remind him again in another groon and paced over to a low shelf where a slightly stale cube of energon had been slowly evaporating while he was distracted. The last time Jazz had been aboard he had insisted that Prowl at least make sure he fuelled if he was not going to charge enough, and he had tried to hold to that.

To his great relief, Jazz had apparently not been sent on the same mission that had caused his deep depression and cost the life of the less experienced agent. Instead he seemed to be being sent all over the galaxy, turning up in the unlikeliest of places at unexpected intervals, always with a cover story that made perfect sense and seemed flawless and yet could not possibly be true. It was enough to make Prowl's circuits ache if he thought too hard about the double-life Jazz took for granted, so he tried not to do so.

It certainly helped that no matter how short Jazz's visit back to the _Ark_ he always found space for a quick catch up, even if it was just a kiss and cuddle in a nearby closet or washrack stall. Usually it was more.

By Prowl's analysis this was simply more proof that their relationship was a solid one. Jazz continued to seek him out well past what could be considered coincidence or convenience. For his own part, every contact simply made him more certain of his own feelings and less accepting of Jazz's claims to nonchalance. Some time soon they would have to have a proper talk about that, and given the chance he would make it entirely plain to Jazz that this was no longer casual for either of them.

But Jazz was not here now, and he had finished his energon so it was time to stop zoning out and to return to work. He was not up this late for the fun of it.

The fact was, the Autobots were losing this war and the situation was becoming more dire with every passing vorn.

The Decepticons were no longer limited by numbers. The constant raids on Neutral bases and the new policy of taking Autobot prisoners rather than simply killing them meant they had plenty of available labour for their breeder factories. Those whose sparks could naturally procreate were tied into the systems; those whose could not were put to work; those who resisted were killed. The factories churned out near-drones who were simple enough to defeat in small numbers but who were all but unstoppable in concentration.

Many Neutrals had come to the Autobots to beg for protection. Some had wanted to join the Autobot ranks and were warmly welcomed, but the civilians were a problem. Non-combatants were targets, and slowed down the forces needed to protect Autobot bases. They complained constantly about the conditions they were forced to endure and took up resources that their protectors needed.

There were no civilians on the _Ark_ , but reprovisioning was becoming difficult, and to make matters worse the Autobot flagship had been through some rough battles in recent vorns and was in urgent need of repair.

Their energon stores were critically low, and the repairs that were needed were not safe to do in space. They needed to land somewhere, preferably somewhere with high ambient radiation or natural energon ore or some other readily accessible energy source and ideally somewhere with a well-resourced maintenance hangar.

Unfortunately, the enemy knew all of this.

Every time they approached a promising system Decepticon raiders turned up. Still, they had to do something, so new plans were tried with increasing desperation in the hope that one might finally work.

It had startled him somewhat to find that of all the others in the Tactical office, only he and Quickquadrant were actually tacticians. The others were aides of various types, or messengers, or technical experts. It was little wonder that Quickquadrant had him doing so much data analysis: what he could do with his inbuilt processor in a groon would take joors of careful data entry and complex calculations through Teletran for any of the others.

Having him do the collation freed Quickquadrant up to do more of the planning personally, but he was still only one mech and with responsibility for the entire Autobot contingent. So the CTO relied heavily on the tactical staff on other ships in the fleet; staff who repeatedly produced the same all-too-flawed plans which Quickquadrant refined and eventually presented to Prime who approved implementation.

They always failed.

Did none of them see that those strategies were not working, Prowl wondered. What they needed was something completely new and unexpected. Hence his after-shift work, here. If he could just present a completed and viable alternative surely it would at least get due consideration? But it had to be perfect before he handed it over or it would likely be dismissed out of hand - he had been reprimanded before over deviating from the stated planning brief.

He frowned down at the display before him, a simulation of the current situation around Ovacalix.

The Decepticons had had the base under constant siege for nearly thirty vorns, unable to launch a direct attack because of the asteroid field supporting the defensive shield but now sufficiently staffed that they could simply keep up a permanent blockade. All attempts thus far to attack the Decepticons there had failed, and it was all but accepted that the base had to be abandoned by those outside the siege until other matters improved.

They had conceded too soon, in Prowl's estimation. Yes, it was difficult, but winning through would be a huge morale boost to the Autobot forces. And it could be done, if it was carefully planned. He was sure it could.

Hearing the door open behind him he assumed it was Sideswipe.

The warrior's wild ways had finally been tamed by an effective punishment: namely, restriction from field duties and deployment as an administrative aide. If Prowl could keep an optic on him he knew that Sideswipe was not getting up to mischief, and Sideswipe appreciated that Prowl actually gave him something to do rather than letting him stand around bored like the others often did.

They had actually ended up spending a proportion of off- duty time together, too. The warrior turned out to enjoy board games, and was determined to beat Prowl at least once at Overlord. So far he had not even come close, but that did not stop him trying.

It also meant that he knew when Prowl was supposed to be off-duty, and he often wandered by to nag him into resting. A friendly gesture, indeed, but irritating.

"You should be charging." he admonished the warrior without looking up, still considering one of the variables on the screen in front of him.

"So should you."

He turned, startled by an unexpected but familiar and welcome voice.

"Jazz? When did you get back?"

"A little bit ago. Who'd you think I was?"

"Sideswipe. He's made a habit of pestering me into taking my breaks."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully.

"Sounds like a sensible mech. So. Time for a break?"

* * *

Sideswipe hummed to himself as he headed along the corridor.

Forty vorns ago he had come aboard hoping to find his brother, and grumpy enough to tell Prime himself where to go if he got in the way of that search. Being separated made them both irritable, and he often wondered how Sunny was coping. Particularly since he had now found some balance of his own: for the first time in a _long_ time he was not alternating time on the front lines with an equal amount of time in the brig.

This weird personal- assistant-role punishment Prowl had come up with was somehow not as demeaning as it should have been. It gave him something to do, at least, and also gave him exposure to the planning side of what was happening, which was new. For vorns he had gone where he was told and fought as he was needed and accepted that. It had always seemed so futile. There were always more Decepticons, and every battlefield ended up looking like all the ones before it. Now at least he knew where he was and Prowl was willing to put battles into context where he could.

The tactician was a strange one, there was no denying it. He was officially on the _Ark_ 's tactical planning team, but he spent most of his energy chasing up petty thefts and doling out punishments for minor rule infractions. He also seemed to be in charge of any administration for new arrivals, even though every other ship Sideswipe had served on that had been the responsibility of the security force.

In fact, pretty much everything Prowl spent his orns doing had been the responsibility of security, in Sideswipe's experience. No-one seemed able to explain how Prowl had ended up with it here, or why, but the mech was remarkably efficient so maybe that was it. Or maybe he had moved from there into tactical?

In any case, he spent most of his shifts elbow-deep in administrative matters. When he was not doing that, he was either in the planning rooms - mostly in his downtime - or, very rarely, in the field.

The first time Sideswipe saw him off-ship he almost got clipped by laserfire just staring in surprise. Prowl was clearly not built for close combat - the Praxian doorwings were generally a disadvantage - but he stood his ground with his rifle and rocket launchers and helped defend the civilians they were evacuating.

Later on, Sideswipe discovered that the tall red mech who stood at Prowl's side was the source of the constant stream of orders that had guided Prime's soldiers in the field that orn. Blaster transmitted the orders that Prowl gave in real time, sometimes with different orders sent simultaneously to several recipients. Together they turned the usual on-site confusion into a professional and casualty- free excursion.

Sideswipe's respect for Prowl and his abilities was high, in spite of his irritation over the mech's inadequate sense of humour and unwillingness to bend the rules, but strangely the senior officers did not seem to have that same opinion of him. So Prowl was relegated to his endless administrative duties and Blaster rarely called upon.

If the mech would just loosen up a little Sideswipe was sure things would go more smoothly for him. He never seemed to do anything but work or charge, and he did far less of the latter than he should. Which was where he came in.

He supposed it was kind of like a replacement for his normal role of watching over Sunny. For vorns he had had to chase his brother around to ensure he fueled and charged and stayed out of trouble. It was actually nice to have someone to pester like this.

Wondering what Prowl would think if he realised Sideswipe saw him as a kind of pseudo-brother, he sauntered up to the planning room door and opened it then stopped in shock.

Prowl was in there, just as predicted, but he was not alone and he was certainly not working. Instead, he was lying back on the wide planning table, limbs entangled with another mech's, both crackling with an imminent overload.

Backing away quickly, Sideswipe stared at the now closed door.

Apparently Prowl was not _always_ as restrained as he appeared.

* * *

Jazz turned his head to stare at the door, certain he had heard something but unable to see anything out of place. On the other hand, he was suddenly acutely aware that he had not locked it and that that was really not good enough if they were going to keep this relationship a secret. Quite honestly he had not thought Prowl would start anything in such a public space, or let it go this far if he did. The mech had obviously changed while he had been away this time.

"Jazz, _please_." Prowl begged, shifting anxiously beneath him. "For the love of Primus, _don't stop now!_ "

Concerned about the possibility of someone walking in on them he gave serious consideration to pulling away, but then decided it could wait. He would go through the camera footage of the hallway later and track down whoever it was, if there had been anyone.

Right now, there were other priorities.

* * *

"So what were ya workin' on, 'fore I interrupted?"

Prowl continued to straighten the room, unsubspacing a cleaning cloth to wipe up a smear of lubricant from the side of the planning table. Explaining the presence of that fluid here would be highly embarrassing.

"We need to dock somewhere to repair and refuel."

"I thought there was a plan to head out to Trident Station to do that?"

Prowl cast a glare at the mech who was lounging in a chair near the door.

"That's classified."

"Not from ops." Jazz shrugged. "Won't work, though. CB's already tellin' Prime that - the Cons're expecting it."

"It _is_ the obvious choice." Prowl conceded.

"But you've got a different plan?"

"It's not approved yet. That's why I'm doing it outside shift. I want to get it right first."

"Looked pretty good to me."

Prowl shook his head, taking one last look around the room to confirm that there was no sign left of their activities.

"I turned it off less than a breem after you entered the room - there was no time for you to analyse the scenario properly. Besides, it may not even be possible."

"Usin' Ovacalix? Sure it's possible. I was there a coupla orns ago."

"How?" Prowl demanded, spinning around. "No-one's been in or out since the siege began!"

"No-one officially." Jazz shrugged. "Ops bots don't really broadcast what they're up to, y'know?"

"What were you doing there? Or... is it something you can't tell me?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Just runnin' messages. Keepin' up the comms between the fleet an' the bots there. Nothin' special. All done, then?"

"So how do you get in and out?" Prowl asked, turning the map function on again and focusing in on the area in question.

"Can't tell ya that, Sparkles. An' it won't work for a ship this size anyway. But there're ways, an' you're smart enough t'find'em without my help. You'll figure it out. Now turn that off an' come on. I'll meet ya back at your room. Betcha I can beat ya there."

"Do you want the code?"

"Ha! Like I need it."


	22. Part 5: Changes, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 2 of 6

The teasing started from the moment they saw him enter the common room.

"Well look who finally turns up again. About time, too."

"You were supposed to be back ages ago!"

"What happened _this_ time, another great deal on spare circuit boards you couldn't pass up?"

Jazz chuckled along with them, protesting and telling them the tale of woe that he had carefully constructed to cover his most recent absence. The longer he was away the more elaborate the story needed to be, and it had almost been two vorns since he had last been aboard the _Ark_. As Jazz, anyway.

His tale told, he let them do most of the talking and prompted the conversation where needed to see that it stayed that way. The less he said, the less likely he could get caught in a lie.

A few of the mecha he had expected to see were missing from the crowd. Subtle manipulation of the rambling conversation eventually revealed some had transferred, some had been promoted, some had died.

The biggest news item - thankfully while he had been away, so he was not expected to know about it - was that one of the cleaning drones had been revealed to actually be a sparkling in disguise and there had been a huge search ship-wide to find the creators. So far, no-one had owned up.

Little wonder Prowl had been full of questions about creation this time, he mused, relieved to find an innocent explanation. He had been concerned that Prowl had had something foolish in mind, and had been trying to figure out how best to dissuade him: when Prowl became set on something, he could be incredibly stubborn.

"The thing is," Spotlight confided gleefully, "the medics swear it can't be a split. Which means it _must_ be a made spark, so _someone_ knows about it."

"At least three someones, counting the medic who did the extraction." Booster agreed.

"They should just douse it now and be done with it." Marinex grunted. "Kindest thing to do. Poor thing's damned anyway."

Some of the group seemed uneasy with that declaration, but none argued with it. No reason why they should, either; after all, it was accepted as truth.

For almost all of Cybertronian history, sparks had come from Vector Sigma via petitioning through the priests. Vector Sigma drew from the Well of All Sparks, and when a spark faded it returned to the Well. But after the Early Wars, with so many of the construction factories destroyed and the priests initially in hiding and with a desperate need to replace workers that had been lost to the conflict, a new way had been found: splitting.

It was dangerous, even after the technique was perfected, but it worked. A segment of a mature spark could be carefully separated from the main orb and inserted into a new frame, and it would gradually grow to form a full-sized spark. Generally it was considered a distasteful but acceptable alternative, after all it was still just part of the spark originally sought from the Well with exactly the same energy signature and would return to there and be reconnected to the rest.

Those activated with split sparks, though, were not mature. And they accepted their baseline programming much more slowly than what were now referred to as 'whole' sparks, those that were granted directly from Vector Sigma. So the option was never popular.

The third method, though, was far more controversial.

'Made' sparks were created through the sharing of energy from two or more contributors, creating an entirely new energy signature. Such things had happened before, mostly between bondmates when at all, but the spark was always left to fade away - the timing of the creation was entirely unpredictable so the proper preparations were never in place, there was no frame to hold the new spark, no prepared programming, no medic on hand.

The dynamic changed when the medics started researching it and openly sharing their findings.

Creation method appealed to the lower classes, the ones who could not afford to spend time and credits on orns of prayers to appropriately solicit a spark, let alone the expensive frame construction and programming costs associated with the traditional system. Making a spark themselves meant only the cost of buying - or building - a frame. Medical help and and a copy of the most basic programming was available to all on request, and the sparkling could the n be taught whateverskills were needed.

The priests had declared it sacreligious and claimed that any such spark was the spawn of Unicron and would never be accepted back into the Well of All Sparks, but it was impossible to stop mecha experimenting once the knowledge was out there.

On the other hand, the catastrophic population explosion that the priests had feared did not occur, either.

By the time Jazz had been activated it had been discovered that the ability to host such a made spark was incredibly rare. Less than one in thirty were actually able to carry any such formed spark.

A message popped up on his HUD, ending his musings, and he finished off his energon quickly.

"Well, mechs'n'femmes, I'd better get goin'. I'm off to Doriac sector tomorrow, and it'll probably be twice as long again before I'm back."

This was most of the reason he was here now - making his excuses, making sure Jazz had a cover. He had told Curveball the next infiltration into Darkmount would take vorns to prepare and it was taking longer than even he had predicted to set things up right, but if this next mission went well he would be well on track to get there safely.

Well, as safely as any infiltration mission into enemy headquarters _could_ be. He was not naive enough to think any amount of preparation could stop things going wrong.

So he was here to talk to friends and make sure they knew why Jazz was not around.

And incidentally, it filled time while Prowl was in a meeting. A meeting that was now about to end, so there was no more reason to dawdle.

* * *

"Are you sure you won't join us just for a little while?" Syncopate asked.

He was a friend of Blaster's and his company was usually a welcome break from Prowl's normal routine, but right now he had other plans.

"Thank you, no. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Alright then. Take care."

Heading away from the meeting room he had to make a short detour to his office to file the datapads he had been given and lock them away. They contained the plans for the refuelling at Trident Station, supposedly top secret.

Regardless of what Jazz believed or what Curveball might have told Prime, as far as Quickquadrant was concerned it was all going ahead as scheduled. They would allow a message to go out using an old encryption that they knew the Decepticons could read, professing their next destination to be Quasar, then head off that way only to slingshot around a nearby asteroid field and come back to Trident.

On the face of it, it was a viable plan. But they had already tried this same manoeuvre five times just with different locations, and it had not worked yet. Twice they had been lucky to get away at all, and each time there had been casualties. Why could they not see that it would not work this time any better than those other times?

Leaning briefly against his now-locked cabinet, he admitted to himself that though the plan to fix the _Ark_ was a worry, it was not what was presently agitating him: the problem was his own more personal plans.

Jazz would be expecting him back in his rooms by now and Prowl did not intend to keep him waiting for much longer, but would this be the right time to raise the other matter he had been considering? He knew already that Jazz would not like it, but he thought if he broached the topic at the right time when Jazz was receptive and not stressed by his own work, perhaps it would go smoothly.

"Or perhaps I just hope that it will be so." he mused.

No. He had run the data scores of times, he had solid arguments for this. And Jazz knew he did not just leap into things.

Even so, perhaps today would not be the right time. There was no need to rush, after all: Jazz was usually on ship for several orns when he returned.

Deciding that he would leave everything as it was for a little longer, he pushed away from the cabinet, locked his office and strode away. His time with Jazz was precious, he should not be wasting it now.

* * *

Prowl stirred as his internal fans finally clicked off again, and Jazz kissed his shoulder lazily.

"Primus I miss you when I'm away."

"I miss you too. I must confess, though, I certainly get more rest."

Jazz smiled, but did not make the joke that Prowl was no doubt expecting. This was the opening he needed, and he might as well take it.

"Y'know, Sparkles, this one's gonna be a long one. I won't be back this way for awhile."

"You're often away for vorns at a time. Why warn me now?"

"This'll be longer. An' I gotta go tomorrow. I ain't gonna get any more time wit'ya before I go once I leave here so we gotta make the most o'this, eh?"

Prowl was still and silent at his side for several clicks, then shifted to the edge of the berth and sat up, looking away from him.

"We need to talk."

"It's my job, Prowler. You know that."

"I do know that."

Jazz sighed softly, reaching one hand up to stroke Prowl's back.

"It couldn't last forever, Sparkles. You knew that. I've said that from the start."

"Yes you have, and I do understand your commitment to your chosen role. I would not ask you to change that."

"What, then?"

Prowl did not answer immediately, and Jazz prompted him.

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever it is. You know me."

"Yes I do." Prowl agreed quietly. "And I don't believe you will take this well."

"Just try me."

Prowl's gaze drifted down to his hands.

"You've been away a lot recently. For longer and longer periods each time. And I have been finding it progressively more difficult to deal with."

Sounded like the classic start of a break-up to him. Better that way, really. This had never been intended to turn into something this important, let alone anything more. It was well past time Prowl had a chance to find someone he could build a long-term relationship with. Someone not him.

"I ain't gonna cause a scene, Sparkles." Jazz assured him gently. "What we had was a lotta fun, but I understand if..."

"What we _had_?" Prowl asked, looking at him sharply.

"Well, yeah. You're wanting t'call it off, right?"

Prowl frowned.

"Quite the opposite. I want to bond with you."

Jazz was startled into a laugh. It had to be a joke.

"You want to _what_?"

"I believe you heard me clearly enough."

The humour fled and Jazz sat up to glare at him.

"That ain't funny."

"I don't intend it to be. I'm serious."

"You'd better slaggin' well _not_ be. For the love of Primus, Prowl, there's a _war on_! Mechs're dyin' every day, an' you wanna tie your life to someone else's? To _mine_? Are you _insane_?"

"I knew you would not take it well." Prowl sighed, looking away.

"Take it well?" Jazz cried, leaping off the berth and moving into Prowl's line of view. "Of course I won't take it well! You're _mad_! I'm out there nearly gettin' killed every second orn - have you got a deathwish? Bonded mechs _die_ when their partners get killed."

"I know that."

"Oh you do, do you? And just how do you know that? How do _you_ know that? You never asked me."

Prowl gave him a faintly exasperated look.

"Not everything I know is based on what you've told me. Some things I've learned from others or for myself."

"Well ain't _that_ a shame if _this_ is what you get from it!"

"Jazz, calm down."

"Calm down?" Jazz snarled at him. "When you've just said this? Primus, you really _are_ mad. No, Prowl. No, no, no. Never. We are not getting bonded. The whole idea's crazy. Who put you up to this? Who suggested it? Someone must've. Who've you been talking to?"

"No-one. This was..."

"It was Sideswipe, wasn't it? Because he and his brother are bonded."

Prowl met his gaze for a moment, then threw up his hands.

"Fine. His situation gave me the idea, yes, but I did the research myself."

"Research!"

"I have investigated the idea and come to my own conclusions."

"What about the plans of you becoming Prime's own chief tactician? Not gonna happen if I get you killed, now is it?"

Prowl flinched slightly but did not look away.

"I have not abandoned my plans, nor do I intend to. But I cannot deny my feelings for you..."

"It's just lust."

"It's _love_." Prowl insisted. "And what's more, it's reciprocated. Otherwise, why do you keep coming back to me, even when you spend all your time telling me how it cannot possibly work?"

"You're extrapolating."

"Tell me you don't love me."

"I don't."

"Say it again and mean it. Not acting: I know you can do that. Tell me honestly and mean it."

Jazz held his gaze for a moment, trying to find a way speak the words sincerely so Prowl would believe them. How hard could that be?

Too hard, apparently. He shook his head irritably.

"Well what difference does it make, anyway? I've been in love before. It passes."

"This won't."

"And how would you know?"

"I have faith."

"Well _that's_ new."

Prowl rose and drew himself up, clearly determined to have his say.

"At first I thought it was just a passing fancy. And you're right: I don't have the wealth of past experience you do to make such a judgement. Nor does this make any logical sense. It is a highly inappropriate time to consider forming a lifebond for anyone caught up in this war, let alone you and me.

"It's true, you could be killed on your very next mission, and that would kill me too if we were bonded. But every time I consider that possibility, I find the potential cost worthwhile. I don't want to be without you, Jazz."

"It's infatuation."

Prowl was starting to look angry now.

"Will you please stop devaluing my opinion? I have thought this through, truly I have. And the only path less tolerable to me than doing this is _not_ doing this.

"Every time you go away I worry more than the previous time. My recharge is broken repeatedly by subroutines that I didn't write that fret over whether you've been killed, and as fast as I decode them, new ones form. I've started glitching every time there's a rumour that the Decepticons have caught another spy.

"I try to rationalise and it simply doesn't work. I need to know, Jazz. I need to _know_ you're alive."

Jazz shook his head, feeling oddly detached.

"I'm wrong." he admitted slowly. "This isn't infatuation, it's obsession. This's gotta stop, Sparkles. It ain't healthy, an' I ain't gonna let you destroy yourself like this. This ends now, I'm endin' it. Goodbye."

"Jazz, please..."

He quickened his stride. He was not discussing this madness any further. One of them had to do the right thing, and if Prowl wasn't going to then he would have to.

No matter how much it hurt, he knew it was for the best.


	23. Part 5: Changes, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 3 of 6

Optimus stood in front of as many of his troops as his officers had been able to cram into the hold, aware of the cameras that were feeding this live to vidscreens for others still on duty to watch.

His command team had tried to talk him out of this: pointing out the danger of having all of the crew distracted, and worse to be broadcasting. The Decepticons would pick up the transmission, they insisted, and might choose to attack while he was giving a lecture on morals.

He chose to ignore their advice.

This had to stop now, otherwise what was the difference between them and their enemies?

"A created sparkling is as precious as any granted through Vector Sigma." he intoned, glaring at those he could see shifting uncomfortably. "All life is precious to Primus. _All_ life, however it begins.

"We do not fight the Decepticons because they are different to us, or because they are military, or because they are flight-based. We fight them because they devalue life. I will fight Megatron's ideals with every last erg of energy in my frame because I believe he is wrong. But I will not condone this hatred of life in those who fight with me."

He pointed to the drone-frame that had been revealed to house a juvenile made-spark.

"This sparkling did not choose to be brought into existence, his creators chose that for him. He is not responsible for their choices. I am sending him back to Baini base where he will be transferred into a more suitable frame and can be raised with others similarly activated in these dark times.

"Unfortunate for them to be brought into this conflict, but fortunate for us that it is even possible. Our numbers dwindle with every passing orn while the Decepticons take advantage of a natural ability of a proportion of our race. An ability which is strengthened in those created that way.

"A natural ability that I will not stand to see derided or shunned.

"Primus would not have permitted such an ability to develop in us if he did not intend us to use it. This development, slow as it is, is a way forward for our race. It removes our dependence on Cybertron's fragile systems.

"This war may not even have begun if there had been enough resources to serve all of our race. The hatred the military hold for civilians erupted when the Council restricted their energon supply, but the disaffection began when their access to Vector Sigma was limited. Their ability to choose when and how to expand their numbers was taken from them, and that is a freedom they were right to defend.

"It is a freedom that we must _all_ now defend.

"We must know who our carriers are. We must protect them and cherish them. With Vector Sigma gone they may well be our only hope for rebuilding once this war is ended."

He paused, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. There was more to say, more to do, but if he failed to make them see this point then he had failed entirely.

He saw Curveball at the back of the room, standing with Quickquadrant and Ratchet, all three of whom still looked disapproving though whether they had problems with his message or simply with his delivery method he could not be sure.

Either way, it seemed it would have to try harder. The entire Autobot cause lost its way if he could not make this point, and he would not give up this easily.

* * *

The long, unscheduled speech from the Prime had been a welcome interruption from sitting in his room and brooding over how badly the discussion had gone with Jazz. It had filled in the remaining time until his next shift, which was also good.

More than anything, what he needed now was some work to bury himself in and refocus on.

"So who is he?" Sideswipe asked, sauntering in casually, inexplicably late since they had both left the hold at the same time after the speech.

But today Prowl did not want an argument with the warrior. He just wanted some normal routine, and there was certainly nothing more normal than Sideswipe arriving late.

"Who is who?" Prowl asked absently, looking over the data that had just arrived from the unit on Kiponax.

Quickquadrant would want a full analysis by the end of shift, which completely tore apart his scheduled workplan and meant he would need to do at least a double-shift to get everything done.

For once that seemed like a blessing.

"The mech who had you spread and begging for it yesterday in the planning room."

His processors jolted to a stop and he stared blankly at the figures for a few clicks before slowly raising his head.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Aw come on. The way he was pounding your frame you've got to at least know his designation! I just can't believe you've kept it all a secret like this."

"He... Wait, you saw...?" Prowl asked hopelessly.

"Sure did. Came in to drag you back to quarters and found you two playing tactile transscan on the planning table."

Prowl felt his processors trying to stall at the idea that they had been observed. How could he not have noticed? Not that Jazz had either, but... wait. Perhaps he had? He had been very quick to suggest the shift to private quarters after that first passionate overload.

He put his helm in his hands. Would Jazz had said anything if he _had_ noticed Sideswipe? Not necessarily. The mech was something of an exhibitionist - he probably liked the idea.

Prowl felt a flash of anger, but it faded almost immediately into an ache of loss. Jazz was not around anymore to be angry at. Leaning harder on his tactical processors and suppressing his emotional responses, he managed to raise his head.

"This is none of your business. He's a friend."

"Some friend." Sideswipe leered. "I've known lifemates who weren't that 'friendly' with each other."

"I'm not discussing this with you." Prowl said stiffly, straightening. "In any case, there is too much work to be done to waste time chattering. I need to concentrate. You are excused for the orn. Go."

"But..."

"Go."

* * *

Sideswipe stomped into his quarters, disgruntled. Primus below but that mech _really_ could not take a tease! What was his problem, anyway? Nothing wrong with a bit of stress relief. Primus knew Prowl of all mechs could do with some!

"Sideswipe, right?"

The unfamiliar voice caught him off-guard and he spun around to find a mech lounging against the wall by the door, just inside the room.

"Who... _You_!"

The as-yet unnamed mech shrugged.

"Look, I'd appreciate it if y'kept quiet on what ya saw, okay? Prowl doesn't cope that well wit'bein' the topic o'gossip."

"Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you fragged him in a public space. Who are you, anyway?"

"Name's Jazz. I'm on an' off ship - more off'n on, recently - but if you ask around you'll find mecha who know me."

"So you and Prowl are sparkmates, then?"

Jazz snorted and settled himself in a chair.

"Hardly. We usedta be roommates. An' he gets too uptight sometimes - does him good t'have his bolts jumped now an' again." He paused. "But he's also touchy about what other bots think of him. I ain't exactly got the cleanest rep, an' it won't do him much good t'be that closely associated wit'me."

"He seemed to be enjoying himself."

Jazz shrugged.

"Like I say - mech's a bit twitchy 'bout his rep. Means he don't socialise much, so he don't get much comp'ny, if y'know what I mean. Wasn't too tough t'keep it quiet when we shared a room, an' he ain't exactly changed his ways since, so I figured I'd go surprise him. An'... well, 'tween you an' me he's a pretty good lay. All that self-denial, I guess. Course, now you're around maybe he don't need me as much, eh?"

Sideswipe sank down onto his berth as Jazz spoke, relaxing as Jazz's explanation matched up with what he knew of Prowl. That last comment caught him by surprise, though. He thought of Prowl as a brother, like Sunny, and the thought of being Sunny's _lover_ was too appalling to even consider.

"Me? Nah, I'm not fragging him."

"Maybe you should?" Jazz suggested, pulling two cubes out of subspace and offering one. "You've got the opportunity. An' y'can't deny he's easy on th'optics."

"I'm pretty sure he'd turn me down. Besides, he's got you."

Jazz looked down into his cube.

"He's kinda upset wit'me right now. I don't regret what I said, but he didn't wanna hear it an' he ain't just gonna forget. Besides, like I said, I'm off ship a lot these days. I'm good at what I do, an' I don't like bein' in the fightin', so they keep me away from here a lot."

"What _do_ you do?"

Jazz smiled, tilting his head.

"Oh, a bit o'this, a bit o'that. Stores negotiator."

Sideswipe choked.

"You're kidding me."

"Nope, completely serious." Jazz told him. "Someone's gotta get out there an' make the deals an' arrange the deliveries..."

"That's not what I meant." Sideswipe interrupted him. "That's pretty much what _I_ used to do, before the war. You ever come across Tiltscale? Or Calibrate?"

Jazz's easy smile flickered just faintly, then steadied.

"You're kiddin' me - you know those fraggers? Tiltscale cheated me outta three whole crates o'energon for a bad batch of transistors just a coupla orns ago."

Sideswipe laughed, delighted.

"Sounds like Tilt, alright. What'd you send him?"

Jazz smirked.

"Well lets just say the batch wasn't exactly top qual."

* * *

Jazz read through the updated mission briefing as Curveball opened a fresh batch of oil and poured it into a warmed pitcher, then shared some out into each cube. By the time he brought it over from the sideboard Jazz had finished and was ready for the drink.

"You're unsettled." his boss noted. "That Praxian finally get bored of you?"

"Somethin' like that." Jazz murmured, but quickly changed the subject. "I met this frontliner, Sideswipe."

"He's been on board for awhile. Problem?"

"Mm, nah. Not yet. But he might be a bit alert for my cover as Jazz. He used to do what we claim Jazz does, an' he knows a whole pile more about it than I do. I held my own this time, but we're gonna have to be careful about the cover stories from here on out or he'll get suspicious."

"I can have him transferred, no problem." Curveball shrugged, then frowned at him sharply. "You don't like that idea."

Jazz sighed, nodding towards the briefing pad.

"He's good company for Prowl. It ain't like I'm gonna be around much, an' the mech don't make that many friends."

"And if he screws him while you're away?"

Jazz shrugged.

"A bit o'variety might do him some good too."

"Sending him off's still the best option." Curveball frowned. "We don't need anyone asking awkward questions. Maybe we send Prowl off, too? He's not getting much done here anyway."

"No." Jazz interrupted quickly. "No, Prowl stays."

"Why? To play jailor to the pranksters? We've got security bots for that."

"He's got plans, they just don't often get through."

"Meaning they're not worth it."

"No, meanin' he's bein' ignored." Jazz persisted. "Look boss, when I got in yesterday I caught him workin' on a repair plan for the Ark. He's almost got it sorted _and_ he's going to free up Ovacalix at the same time. I didn't see that much, but what I saw would work. Problem is, it'll get squashed the minute Quad hears about it. If y'ask me the mech feels a bit threatened by Prowl. Prowl's plans are sound, boss. He's good at what he does."

Curveball sipped slowly at his energon, watching him for a long moment, then inclined his head.

"So. You want Prowl to stay. And you want Sideswipe to stay. So how do we fix this?"

He shrugged.

"We could kill Jazz. Been awhile since one o'my personas died. I spend too much time here anyway."

"No." Curveball shot that idea down immediately. "I need you on hand when you're not out. We've worked too hard on this cover to drop it for one suspicious warrior with too much time on his hands."

"Well, the other option is to track down his twin." Jazz considered. "That'll distract him - it's what he's been holding out for anyway."

"After nearly two hundred vorns of working to keep them apart?"

Jazz looked up in surprise.

"He's one of our specials?"

Curveball looked exasperated.

"The galaxy's not _that_ big, Meister. You think they wouldn't've bumped into one another by now if there wasn't _someone_ stopping it?"

"Why, though?"

"Because away from his twin, Sunstreaker's a berserker. When he calms down he spends more time worrying about his appearance than his job, but when he's stressed he does as much damage on the battlefield as a dozen others."

"That's pretty harsh, CB." Jazz mused. "What'll ya do when he snaps?"

"Pray he doesn't." Curveball grunted, then waved a hand vaguely. "I'll think about it. It mightn't be much of a problem, given what you're off to do. He probably won't even remember you by the time you get back. _If_ you get back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along with _Echoes_ , _The recruit_ should be read now :)


	24. Part 5: Changes, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 4 of 6

Prowl shut off the vidscreen and leaned back in his chair to consider what he had just learned.

It had been vorns since he had last heard from Blaster by direct vid-transmission rather than by encrypted text file, and he had not been quite sure what to expect when he was told there was a call for him from Iacon. The bubbly communications expert had spent the first breem introducing his newest symbiote, Ramhorn, then just before disconnecting had revealed the real reason for his call: he had located Sideswipe's missing twin.

Sunstreaker was serving under Ultra Triskadon in the ruins of Praxus, right in the heart of the worst of the conflict. That unit, and the four others with it, were one of the key strongholds protecting the slowly-shrinking Autobot controlled area around Iacon and was one of the most dangerous assignments outside of Curveball's team.

To have survived there for as many vorns as Blaster had just revealed, Sunstreaker must be very, _very_ good in the field.

Which left him with a problem.

Should he put in a request for Sunstreaker to be transferred to the _Ark_? That could weaken Triskadon's team and put Iacon at risk. Should he transfer Sideswipe to Cybertron? It seemed the simpler option, but Tripwire had placed a non-transfer alert on the red warrior to stop him constantly ship-hopping. To get that changed, he would have to explain why.

Triskadon's unit had no place for a prankster, and Sideswipe was most certainly that. He was a solid warrior, but not noticeably exceptional. And having Sideswipe in the field beside him might make Sunstreaker less willing to be involved in the highest risk missions.

Might. Could. If.

Enough.

This was all speculation. What he knew was that they were both capable warriors, and that they were also twins and should not be separated. If necessary, he could go to Prime for support and be sure he would get it.

He offlined his optics for a moment, trying not to reflect on the fact that he was going to lose Sideswipe's company within joors of losing Jazz, and reminded himself sharply that the war could not be expected to revolve around what suited him. Sideswipe needed his brother, and Sunstreaker no doubt needed Sideswipe just as much. He had to do the right thing.

Onlining his optics again, he brought up the transfer form on his screen and began filling it in.

* * *

Sideswipe sprinted through the halls, carolling apologies to mecha he knocked down but not slowing even as he reached the officers corridor. Bursting into the office that was his destination, he simply leapt over the desk and knocked the mech in the chair over onto the floor as he hugged him.

"You found him! When's he gonna be here? Where's he been?"

Prowl shoved him off, wincing as he rubbed at his left doorwing.

"Assault on a superior officer will get you two shifts in the brig, Sideswipe."

"Aw come on, you don't mean that. Stop teasing - why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't I tell you what?" Prowl asked, righting his chair and settling back into it.

"That you found Sunny!"

Prowl looked up at him in startlement.

"Where did you hear that?"

Sideswipe grinned at him.

"Supposed to be a secret, huh? You were gonna surprise me? See - I keep telling mechs you're not so much a drone as they say. Cliffjumper told me. He's on the _Corabix_ and they're on their way here _._ "

"No." Prowl frowned.

Sideswipe slapped him on the shoulder.

"You can stop with the cover now. I just wanted to say thanks. Everyone else's always given me the run around, but you really _were_ looking for him, weren't you?"

Prowl shook his head.

"Sideswipe, I'm not sure what..." he began, then paused as an ensign stepped into the office.

"Sir, text message from Blaster on encryption channel 872."

Prowl nodded shortly and turned to his comm panel to bring up a message that to Sideswipe was simply a mess of random characters. He left Prowl reading it and noticed what the tactician had been working on. A transfer?

Wait, it was for _him_?

"What the slag are you up to?" he demanded, scrolling down to see the destination.

Cybertron? Sunstreaker was on his way to the _Ark_ and Prowl was sending him to Cybertron? Prowl turned back towards him, glancing at the screen, then sighing.

"I found Sunstreaker on Cybertron. I was attempting to reunite you. However it seems that Sunstreaker acted faster than I did: we've been asked to detain him for desertion on his arrival."

Suspicions falling away with the reasonable explanation - particularly knowing Sunny - he moved on to the next issue.

"But you can get around that, right?"

"I'll try, but he will have to start in the brig until I can get this sorted out."

"Oh." Sideswipe muttered, disappointed, then brightened. "But you were gonna send me there anyway? For assault?"

"That was not a serious threat."

"Please?"

Prowl stared at him in disbelief.

"You're now begging me to incarcerate you?"

"Please? Just this once? I'll never ask you to do it again, I promise."

"Now that I find I can certainly believe."

* * *

It had been a long, difficult orn.

After the trouble extricating the twins from the brig and getting them both confirmed as permanent _Ark_ crew and dealing with Topnotch's conniption fits over Sunstreaker's records, all Prowl wanted to do was go back to his quarters and rest.

Instead he made it less than halfway there before he received a message instructing him to go directly to see the Prime.

Preparing himself to explain yet again about Sunstreaker's relationship with Sideswipe and his attempts to locate him but that he was not responsible for Sunstreaker's unscheduled arrival, he walked through the corridors barely aware of the mechs he walked past. Reaching the highest command level he found the door to Prime's office open and an ensign there to wave him in.

Optimus was standing at one of Teletran's large screens and did not seem to see him enter so Prowl stood to attention facing him.

"You wished to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Prowl. Thank you."

Optimus regarded him for a moment, then gestured to the room's other occupant.

"Curveball tells me you've been working on a plan to organise repairs for the _Ark_. I'd like to hear it."

Prowl hesitated. So much had happened since he had last had time to even consider his plans that it took a moment to bring the data up in his HUD.

"It's still an incomplete draft, sir. I haven't even had time to show it to Chief Quickquadrant."

"That's fine, just an outline of what you have now will be enough."

"Very well, sir." Prowl nodded, and took a moment to re-order his thoughts before starting.

This was exactly the opportunity he needed and he could not afford to get this wrong. Carefully pushing all thoughts of Jazz and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to a memory cache and shutting them away, he composed himself and began trying to explain the complex plan concisely.

"Firstly we must announce a destination in one of the unoccupied systems, just as we have done in previous attempts so far, and ask the troops to watch closely for information leaks. Then we tell the officers that the real plan is to land at Ovacalix."

Prime held out a hand to stop him for a moment.

"Is that possible?"

"Yes sir. I have found three viable scenarios which would allow us access. With more preparation time I could organise some simulations for you to demonstrate each of the options."

"Later. So we arrive at Ovacalix, but then we would be pinned down. What next?"

"No sir, we don't actually take the _Ark_ to Ovacalix at all."

"But didn't you just say that that was the destination?" Optimus frowned.

"Our most pressing concern is that the Decepticons have thus far been able to learn of our plans and act against us. To combat this, what I suggest is three tiers of plans. Ideally the existence of the third plan will be contained, but even if all three are expressed in full to our enemies they will not be able to ignore any of them and thus their forces will be split. If they select any one to defend against, we can easily shift to one of the other options, and if they defend against all three then we have a better chance of finding a weak spot to push through. It permits us flexibility rather than committing to a single action."

He paused at the rather unexpected sound of Curveball clicking approval at him in the infantile binary language. He wondered whether he was supposed to interpret that as encouragement or as a reminder that the Chief of Special Operations knew about his age, then elected to ignore the irritating mech altogether.

"The troops will believe that we are landing on the named uninhabited planet or moon while the officers will prepare quietly for the assault on Ovacalix. We will mass a fleet for the intention of guarding the _Ark_ as we land on the designated spot; but the rendezvous point will place Ovacalix between us and our destination. This way keep our options open to use whichever solution is most viable. However, neither solution will work completely in this way so there must be something further.

"Just short of deployment around Ovacalix the _Ark_ will develop a serious fault, endangering the crew and disrupting our plans. The _Ark_ will have to be abandoned, with all but a volunteer maintenance crew evacuating to the nearest fleet ships. Since we will be out of Decepticon weapons range and surrounded by allied craft there should be no actual danger to the crew, but there will be confusion. The enemy will not know who is on which ship nor which is the new flagship.

"We then attack the blockade around Ovacalix as planned with part of our force while a smaller number carry on to the original uninhabited location. This will expand the confusion, since the Decepticons will not be certain which of the two is the actual target, but we want to keep the attention mostly on Ovacalix. This will ensure the smaller group encounter less resistance and are able to begin gathering resources and supplies as per the original plan.

"Whether the Ovacalix group actually make it through to the base is in fact irrelevant. They will retain much of the enemy attention and damage the siege. Even if we fail to break the siege entirely we should have opportunities to exchange personnel and supplies with the base as needed, and should plan priorities for this in advance."

"And the _Ark_ itself?" Optimus asked, looking thoughtful.

"That part of the plan requires some more work, sir. I have an intended location, but it is..." he paused to select his words carefully, "somewhat audacious."

"Audacious?" Curveball laughed. "After what you've just suggested? What could be more daring than all of this?"

"Well?" Prime prompted.

"Sir, I propose to get the _Ark_ to the shipyards at Iacon."

The humour left the room and the two senior Autobots stared at him in patent disbelief.

"It can be done." he told them confidently. "Iacon has the best repair yards under Autobot control and is the last place the Decepticons would expect us to go."

"For good slagging reason." Curveball growled at him. "Are you insane?"

"You are making some outrageous claims, Junior Tactician." Optimus intoned, waving his CSO into silence. "What you are suggesting could get a lot of good mecha killed, not to mention destroying my flagship. How confident are you that this will work?"

"Sir. Give me two more joors to finalise the details, and I will present you with a viable plan. Then you can make your own judgement."

"Agreed. Two joors. And then you will present the whole plan to my senior staff."

* * *

Sideswipe shook his head in disbelief, drawing the attention of the mech who had claimed to be trying to rest.

"What?"

"I still can't believe it. You never even left Cybertron!"

"Unlike you. No wonder I couldn't find you. What happened to us meeting up in Vos?"

Sideswipe laughed.

"What didn't? The Cons flattened the place!"

"I know. I thought you were in it. Your friend Cheapshot told me you'd gone there early."

"Who? I don't know anyone called that."

"Well he knew plenty about you."

"Weird. He still around?"

"Nah, he got himself blown up awhile later. Now shut up and let me have some peace."

"What, you're not even interested what I've been doing?"

"Nope."

"Missed you too, bro."

Sunstreaker grunted.

"What's the story with that Prowl guy? Why's he so worried about us?"

"He's the one who got you back here. He's got a titanium core, that's for sure."

"He didn't get me back here. _I_ found out where you were and bribed my way onto a cargo ship."

"He was about to. Or, well actually he was going to send _me_ to _you_. He's been looking for you for me. It's not like I was having any luck with it on my own."

"Why would he care?"

"I dunno. I think he thought maybe I'd stop bothering him so much once you were back. Hah. He's got no idea."

"He's security, then?"

"Nope. Tactical."

"What?"

Sideswipe laughed.

"Never mind. You'll like him. He's crazy-weird, but he's got a good spark."

"Ngh. Whatever. It's not like we have to work with him. Now shut up and let me charge, I'm exhausted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along with _Echoes_ , _The artist_ should be read now :)


	25. Part 5: Changes, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 5 of 6

Prowl followed Quickquadrant out of the briefing room and down the corridor.

The presentation had gone very well and Prime had declared that he should lead all of the related planning. That had clearly not pleased the Chief Tactical Officer, but Prime had been insistent and there was nothing Quickquadrant could do about it. Prowl could only hope that the order had not damaged his future working relationship with the senior tactician.

"Out." Quickquadrant dismissed his aides curtly as they entered the tactical office.

"Sir, I'm sorry. Chief Curveball had already learned of my plan and expressed it to Prime before I was able to outline the draft for you."

"So I understand." Quickquadrant nodded, walking over to the sideboard. "High grade?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Have some anyway."

He turned back and offered a cube which Prowl accepted but did not drink from, then Quickquadrant indicated they should both sit on a bench along the wall.

"The fact is, Prowl," the CTO mused, "up until now I've seen no particular indication that you're good for anything more than administration. I was actually beginning to consider transferring you to either Safestore's staff or to Copperplate's in spite of that precious valt-split processor of yours. It was a close thing, I tell you."

Prowl carefully clamped down on the urge to point out that every time he had attempted to prove himself he had been blocked, and simply retained an attentive expression as his superior continued.

"This, though. This plan is inspired. Dangerous, oh yes, but inspired."

"Dangerous, sir?"

"If it goes ahead as you intend, there will be no prior warning to the evacuation. As there can't be, I understand completely. But panicked mecha don't think. We could easily lose some to vacuum exposure."

"Drills are regularly scheduled." Prowl mused, comparing the results of the past few trials to the scenario to establish a likelihood for panic.

"Drills are fine, but not everyone takes them seriously. Besides, if you don't have a fixed plan for where everyone is going to go, it's going to make planning far more complicated from that point on."

Prime had approved it. And Prowl was certain it would work. Yet Quickquadrant was the senior expert here: perhaps he was missing something after all.

"You believe the plan is unworkable?" Prowl asked, troubled.

"Not at all." he was assured. "Just needs a bit more work."

"I will continue to work on it."

"Indeed you should, and I will help you. You're going to be very busy. Unfortunately you will have to continue with your other existing duties on top of this work, at least until we have found an effective replacement. I hope you won't find that too much of a strain?"

"I will do what is required, sir."

"Very good. Then lets begin."

* * *

"And here I thought you were bad at taking your breaks _before_."

Prowl did not even look up.

"I'm busy, Sideswipe. Was there something you needed?"

"We were supposed to be meeting for a game of Overlord? Like a whole groon ago?"

"Work commitments have taken precedence. I shall reschedule with you."

"When?"

"Later."

"When, later?"

Prowl flashed a brief, irritated glance at him, then back down.

"I don't have time for this. Go and spend time with your brother."

"Ngh. Not right now. He's _waxing_. He'll be at it for _groons_. What're you doing, anyway? You missed your rest period."

"I'm working. I'll rest later."

"Working on what?"

Prowl abruptly put down his stylus and moved his hand to hover over the intercom to the security office.

"Leave, Sideswipe, or I will have you removed."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh. Talk about cranky."

"Sideswipe." Prowl warned, his hand moving lower.

"Gotcha. See you later, then."

He hurried out and shut the door, then glared at it.

"Crazy mech."

* * *

Curveball nodded to him as he entered the CSO's office and spoke before he had a chance to open with a greeting.

"I hear you need some of my agents to help. What've you got in mind?"

"Three roles. A group to support the evacuation to ensure there are no accidents due to panic. Someone to stay on board to support the mechanical team who will get the _Ark_ to Iacon. Someone to inform the command element at Ovacalix of our intentions regarding their base."

"And Iacon?"

Prowl shook his head.

"I am able to pass on that information securely myself."

"Ah, your secure encryption with Blaster. Useful, that."

"Indeed."

"So. You're not going to try to tell me who I should put where? Or how many?"

"I believe you are better placed to make those decisions yourself."

"Smart mech. Took me vorns to get Quad to accept that. I think you and me're going to get on just fine."

"Thank you, sir. Please let me know when your agents have been briefed and who to use as contacts."

"Smart _and_ concise. Good. I think I'm starting to see what Jazz sees in you."

The reference caught him by surprise and stung him hard. Whatever Jazz had previously seen in him, it was unlikely that he saw it now.

"Thank you, sir." he repeated quietly then turned and left, wishing he was not quite so aware of Curveball staring at him inscrutably until he was out of sight.

* * *

Sideswipe paced, annoyed.

"I don't get it."

"It sounds simple enough to me." Sunstreaker shrugged, laying out the ammunition he wanted to take so he could subspace it in order.

"Too simple, that's the problem."

"What's so wrong about attacking the blockade around Ovacalix?" his brother asked. "We go in, we attack, we either get through or we back off. Simple."

"If it's that simple, why didn't we do it before?"

"How should I know? And how should _you_ know? You're no planner. A plotter, sure, but not a planner. Leave the worrying to the experts."

"Or ask one of them." Sideswipe muttered, heading for the door.

"Where're you going?"

"Out for a walk. I'll be back."

"Frag that." Sunstreaker grumbled, shoving the ammunition into subspace and rising. "I'm coming with you."

"I'm just going to see Prowl. I don't need a bodyguard, you know."

"Just hurry up. I don't want to be late getting down to the shuttles - want to pick my spot."

Sideswipe smiled, pulsing gratitude through the bond between them. Sunstreaker may not be willing to vocalise it, but he also had his concerns about the strange orders they had received and neither of them really wanted to be separated even by a few rooms right now. There was something wrong.

On their way up to the officers level, they passed groups of mecha preparing for the upcoming battle for Ovacalix. There seemed to be movement everywhere, but as they got closer to their destination it grew quieter, and when they reached the command level every single office was empty with the doors open.

"Spooky." Sunstreaker grunted.

"You're telling me." Sideswipe agreed softly, poking his head into Prowl's office, then walking on. "Where are they all?"

"Beats me."

Noise up ahead drew them on, and they found themselves in one of the large briefing rooms. There was no presentation on the screens, simply a countdown - peculiarly, one which did was considerably further along in its count than the official one posted on Teletran's noticeboard - and there were a small knot of mecha surrounding Prime who was standing to one side.

Prowl was amongst that group and spotted them almost the same moment Sideswipe noticed him, and he came hurrying over.

"What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Looking for you. What's going on?"

"We're preparing for the attack." Prowl frowned at him. "And you are not supposed to be here - you should be boarding your shuttle."

"Not for another two breems. Plenty of time."

"Not enough." Prowl countered. "Get moving."

"Problem, lieutenant?" Quickquadrant asked, approaching.

"No, sir." Prowl responded calmly. "These two are just on their way to their shuttle."

"They had best hurry then. We have a schedule to keep."

"Indeed."

"On the other hand," Curveball put in, "it might be handy to have a couple of frontliners with us."

"That is not part of the plan." Quickquadrant disapproved.

"So what? Look after it, Prowl, will you? Quad, come and show me the distribution again will you?"

The two senior officers walked away, and Prowl glared at them.

"You are not supposed to be here." he hissed, his doorwings twitching agitatedly. "Why did you ignore your orders?"

"We just wanted to know what was going on." Sunstreaker shrugged. "And there _is_ something going on, isn't there?"

"Of course there is. We're trying to get through to Isobar."

"And attack Ovacalix." Sideswipe added helpfully.

"Yes. And attack Ovacalix."

"And what else?" Sideswipe persisted.

Prowl smoothed the frown off his face and stilled his entire frame. He regarded them silently for a moment, then nodded faintly to himself.

"In a few more clicks, you'll find out. Just do what you're told and stay out of the way."

* * *

Apart from the twins turning up at the briefing room, and two medics deciding to ignore the instruction from their own superiors and begin a delicate surgical procedure anyway, and some pranksters fooling about in the washracks when they should have been at their stations, the evacuation went mostly as planned. Almost everyone was scheduled to board their shuttle well in advance of the attack so had somewhere to be which would get them safely away; the rest were guided by their officers and Curveball's helpers.

Once off the _Ark_ the distribution seemed chaotic, but in fact it was perfectly coordinated between Prowl and Quickquadrant as per the carefully prepared plans.

Between them they had worked up over three hundred variations to cover all contingencies and could access them at a click's notice - far more redundancy than Prowl had felt necessary but the CTO had been insistent and it certainly did no harm to be prepared.

Prime himself remained out of sight, unseen by the mecha on the shuttle he boarded thanks to Hound's holograms, and so only the Autobot command staff knew where he actually was. A safety measure Prowl was particularly pleased with when the ship Prime was supposed to board was delayed and he ended up aboard the _Escaphalion_ with the tactical staff. Scenarios 186 and 243 covered that possibility.

With carefully modulated phrasing to feign near panic, Quickqudrant ordered the attack to continue and for the emergency crew on the _Ark_ to get it out of the area. Seeming to break with orders, several of the ships in the fleet insisted on escorting the _Ark_ to safety on Isobar as originally planned. Quickquadrant railed at them, but they ignored orders - as previously instructed - and carried on.

This was the dangerous part.

Those ships were in fact nowhere near the _Ark_ , and getting further away with every moment. So long as the Decepticons were only able to intercept the encrypted transmissions the flagship was safe, but if they were within visual or scanning range the enemy would realise that the _Ark_ was alone and heading in a completely different direction.

Prowl kept his attention focused on the monitors. Worst case scenario, the _Ark_ would be seen and attacked and lost along with its crew. But all past data suggested that the enemy could break their standard communications encryption, and the one thing that had been made very clear was that Prime was definitely no longer aboard the _Ark_.

A defective and all-but-abandoned flagship was a far less tempting target than an uncoordinated attack fleet. The Decepticons _should_ aim at the Ovacalix fleet. Or at least at the Isobar group. Which meant that they should appear on scope at any moment.

"Sir!" an ensign called out, directing his comments to Quickquadrant. "The _Fantalex_ reports a Decepticon raider approaching. No identification yet."

"The _Xantium_ confirms and requests permission to engage."

"The _Corabix_ confirms and requests permission to engage."

"The _Covenant_ reports no Decepticon signals at this stage - proceeding towards Isobar."

"Sir?"

"Your orders, sir?"

"Transmit plan 6-A47829 but take no action until we give the word." Quickquadrant instructed, then smiled as Optimus strode in.

"We're ready to begin, it seems."

"Indeed. Prowl, this was your plan. Give the order."

Prowl stepped up to the command dais and looked down at the waiting communications staff. A couple of them glanced at Quickquadrant, clearly confused, but most were attentive.

It did not matter. Prime had delegated to him, so they would do as he instructed, and he was more than ready to direct them.

"Hail all ships in the fleet. Attack on contact."


	26. Part 5: Changes, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5, chapter 6 of 6

_Epilogue - thirty-two vorns later_

"Your move."

Sideswipe shook off his thoughts and looked back down at the board.

"Why do I bother? Just because _I_ can't see yet how you're going to beat me, I still know you will."

"You are not required to play." Prowl pointed out. "Would you prefer to stop?"

"No. Just give me a breem."

"You've had three so far. What is disrupting your concentration?"

"Just thinking."

"Unusual for you."

"Hey! That was deliberately unkind."

Prowl smiled faintly.

"Someone once told me it was proof I was not the drone I pretend to be."

"Ha. You're not a drone. You're too evil for that. There. Your turn."

Prowl barely glanced at the board before moving a piece on the far side and returning his hands primly to his lap.

"Your turn. What has you so distracted today?"

"Oh, just thinking."

"You said that before."

"Well it's true. Hey Prowl, did you really mean for the _Ark_ to land at Iacon?"

"Yes."

"And for the supply ships to fill up at Isobar?"

"Yes."

"And for the _Nemesis_ to get crippled chasing the _Xantium_ through the asteroid field?"

"No. That was fortuitous but unplanned. As was Prime's shuttle landing on the _Escaphalion_. He was to be retrieved by the _Corabix_ , but the captain had gotten the timing wrong and was too far away."

Sideswipe shuddered. The _Corabix_ had been targetted by the Decepticons and had been destroyed with all hands lost shortly after the attack began.

"Lucky."

"Indeed. But that was all more than thirty vorns ago now. Why the sudden interest?"

"Well it's like this. Sunny's friend Swerve turned up from Iacon today. And he says they knew about the attack on Ovacalix nearly ten orns before it happened. And that Prime was supposed to be on the _Corabix_. If they'd heard about the plan to send the _Ark_ to Iacon too, everything could've been different. It's like me playing this game: you just pick me off."

"That is what we try to avoid." Prowl nodded. "But it is also true that there are undoubtedly Decepticon sympathisers amongst us."

"Then we need to figure out who they are and space them!"

"Easier said than done, unfortunately." Prowl sighed. "Curveball's agents do little else, it seems, and still our plans get leaked."

Sideswipe nodded, pondering again the question he had been fretting over for the last couple of groons. Swerve's arrival and news had gotten him thinking about someone else, someone who had arrived without any of the trappings or concerns that he _should_ have had.

"Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"We're friends, right?"

"I believe so."

"So you'd listen if I told you I thought I'd found one of these sympathisers."

He had Prowl's full attention now.

"Of course."

"Even if... you didn't like it?"

"I will listen to whatever evidence you have to present." Prowl told him firmly.

"Well... The thing is, I'm thinking that mech Jazz might be one."

There was no reaction at all from the tactican for a long moment, and Sideswipe grimaced.

"Slag. I'm sorry. I know he's your friend and he was your lover and everything, but he's been gone for ages and it's all a bit weird..."

"What makes you think this?" Prowl asked stiffly.

"Well, he claims he's a stores negotiator, right? But the timing was all to the pit. And he didn't know things he should. That was _my_ job back on Cybertron, when the war was first starting up. There's just things you _know_ when you do that stuff, and when I talked to him he just didn't know them..."

"When? When did you talk to him?"

"Oh ages ago. On the _Ark_."

Prowl looked confused, his doorwings twitching faintly, and took a few clicks before asking his next question.

"So why wait all this time to accuse him?"

"Because until I spoke to Swerve I didn't put it together. I knew he was dodgy, but it didn't seem to hurt anything and he was gone before the whole attack on Ovacalix and stuff, so I didn't see what he could've done. But... well, he was with you when you were planning, right? Maybe he stole some of the data?"

"Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

"No."

"Anyone at all? Even your brother?"

"No, not yet. But Sunny'll know, he'll find out. It's the way it is - we don't have secrets."

"I see. I don't suppose you would take my word for it that he is _not_ a leak?"

Sideswipe started to answer, but Prowl was already continuing.

"No, that is unfair. You need a reason. If I give you one, you must swear that no-one other than your twin will learn of it."

"Okay."

"Jazz is not a sympathiser. He is..." Prowl hesitated, then continued much more quietly as though to prevent anyone listening in. "He is a junior member of Curveball's unit."

"What!"

"As I understand it, he acts as a kind of courier carrying messages. He visited Ovacalix several times during the siege. His role in stores is a cover for that work." Prowl paused. "He would likely appreciate some pointers as to how to improve his act, but he may not be pleased that I have told you this. Very few actually know what he does, and no-one but Jazz knows that _I_ know."

Sideswipe sank back in his chair.

"You know," he said after a moment of thinking, "Sunny's right about you."

"In what way?"

"He says you've got an answer for everything!"

* * *

Prowl tidied away the game board and headed out towards the communal energon dispenser at the end of the corridor. His quarters here were smaller than the ones he had last had on the _Ark_ , but they were also closer to the senior officers hall. He did not really require any additional space anyway: Sideswipe was his only visitor, and that was simply for the occasional board game.

A good thing too, he supposed. The berth was barely wide enough to accommodate him alone - it would never be wide enough for a lover, too.

Hearing Sideswipe's theory on Jazz had put him out of sorts, not in the least because Sideswipe could be right.

What if Jazz _was_ a counter-agent? What if he _was_ really working for the other side, and stayed close just to get information?

No, he told himself. If that were true then he should have wanted to stay close as Prowl's plan developed rather than disappearing. Besides, if Jazz worked for the Decepticons Curveball must either know or be part of it and that meant...

He stopped still in the hallway, staring at nothing in particular, forcing those lines of enquiry to stop processing. He could almost feel his processor trying to lock up, and that would be embarrassing.

Without time to consider all the data - time he had no intention of taking right now - he could not be sure that it was logical, but he felt certain that Jazz was trustworthy. Why he felt that could wait for later analysis, but all that mattered was that he did.

Not that it made any difference to his current situation. Jazz was not here, and had not been for a very long time, and was unlikely to want to renew their relationship after what had happened. Prowl could understand that, and yet he could not change how he felt. Ridiculous as it was, he still missed Jazz intensely.

The vorns passing without news made no difference. He still worried about the other mech, and still wished he was nearby. He still lay on his berth before charge wishing Jazz were there to hold him, and onlined dismayed to find himself alone.

It was obvious that he had ruined any chance of an ongoing relationship with Jazz by requesting the bond, yet he could not regret asking for it. It remained the only logical solution he could see, given his persistent infatuation.

Surely, _surely_ , it must be love if he was still so badly affected so long after last seeing him?

Enough, he told himself sharply, forcing himself to walk on.

He had been over this time and time again. The fact was, Jazz was not here. He may or may not have been back between missions, but he had certainly made no effort to seek Prowl out and that was in line with what he had said at the end of their argument. It made very little difference who was right this late in the piece; it was over.

Being alone had not killed him yet, and would not do so in the future.

Retrieving his ration, he subspaced it and headed back to his quarters. He would drink it later, after he had charged, but collecting it now meant he did not have to stand in the queue before the start of shift when the ship was busier.

Stepping back into his room he immediately noticed a datapad sitting on his desk that had not been there before. Something Sideswipe had left? The frontliner was the only other mech with the code to access his room. He was just reaching for it when someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him down to the floor.

Yelping in alarm he tried to pull free and was startled when a mouth covered his. He shoved his molester away, then registered the familiar features.

"Jazz!"

"Guess you ain't the only one obsessed." the other mech grunted, hands feverishly seeking out sensitive points. "Primus I've missed you. Forgive me?"

"You've been gone for thirty vorns!"

"Mm. I know, I know. Back now. Missed you."

Prowl felt a flicker of anger trying to kindle. Jazz had been gone for decades with no word, walking out as though he was never going to return and seeming to hold to that plan. He could have had a dozen other lovers in the meantime, while Prowl had been faithful with no hope that that fidelity would be rewarded.

He should be furious...

But it was so difficult to concentrate on being indignant or angry with Jazz actually here at last and touching him like this.

"Missed you too." he confessed, giving in.

Any arguments could come later, if at all. The last argument had been too painful. For right now, it was good just to have him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 6.


	27. Part 6: Dreams and realities, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6, chapter 1 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-length chapter ahead :)

Jazz's return was brief that first time, and not much longer the second or the third.

He came and went with no warning, intermittently there when Prowl arrived back in his quarters or turning up midway through a recharge shift. Sometimes he appeared for several orns in a row, other times it was a vorn or two between.

Their meetings were not always physically intimate, but just seeing him safe and present was enough to quell Prowl's persistent fears. When they _were_ intimate it had to be on the floor since the berth had proven beyond doubt to be too small for both of them at once in spite of Jazz's creativity. Larger quarters were not likely in the foreseeable future given the cramped accommodation on the _Escaphalion_ , and Prowl was disinclined to ask in case he ended up with a roommate to have to work around, but if they were physically uncomfortable at times at least when they talked it was just like it had been before the argument.

Prowl made a point of never again raising the question of bonding. For his part Jazz seemed to be carrying on as though that suggestion had not been made, and if that was the only way they could continue to be together Prowl had decided that he could live with that. It did not reduce his worry, particularly when Jazz returned time after time with new patches and scars and suffered through bouts of anger and depression that he would not explain, but he held his peace and so far it had been okay.

This last absence, though, had been more stressful than most.

"I can't believe you're really back." Prowl whispered, stroking Jazz's face wonderingly with the back of his fingers. "When you weren't back on schedule and we got word of the destruction of Baini base..."

Jazz sighed.

"Part o'the plan. We had a clue on a major leak here. Truth is I was never anywhere near the Baini sector."

Prowl considered asking for detail about what his lover had been doing, wondering if Jazz was in a talkative mood given how freely that information had come, then decided that he did not want to know.

"Did it work?"

"Yeah, they know who it is."

"Who?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Can't tell ya that, Sparkles. It's bein' dealt with, that's all."

That troubled him.

The idea that one of the mechs he worked with directly was actually an agent for the Decepticons and endangering the lives he worked so hard to save, competing against the idea that the mech was probably a lot like Jazz: a skilled infiltrator. Did he too have a lover somewhere back behind the Decepticon lines, waiting to hear that he was alright?

He stopped that line of thought before it could go any further and leaned his cheek against Jazz's shoulder.

"I missed you." he said simply.

"Missed you too, lover. An' I... Sit up for a bit. I need t'talk to ya seriously."

Prowl was disturbed by Jazz's somber tone. They had not argued since that last time on the _Ark_ and he feared where this would go. He was not sure he could cope if Jazz wanted to break off their relationship altogether after starting it up again.

"I've been doin' some thinking." Jazz said when they were both settled.

"Things're gettin' worse out there. I mean, we knew they were bad, but it's gettin' untenable. Prime hasn't heard it yet, far as I know, but a lot o'the old Neutral bases round Cybertron've been razed. The Cons're goin' crazy - it's like they've forgotten about tryin' t'take over an' just moved on to tryin' t'kill everyone else. They've always been bad, but now..."

He paused then took Prowl's hands in his own, apparently fascinated by them.

"Truth is, I dunno how much longer I can keep doin' what I do. Mostly I go in as either a Neutral recruit or an Autobot defector when I join a unit t'infiltrate it. But if they stop recruitin' then it's gonna get a whole lot harder.

"This time round I was okay, but I saw plenty'o'others who really were genuine get treated like spies because they said or did the wrong thing at the wrong time. The Cons don't like spies, Prowler. It ain't a good place t'be, bein' suspected. So far I've been lucky, but I dunno how much longer that'll go on."

Prowl nodded slowly, sickened by the idea but not surprised by it. Reflecting on the likely fate of Techtonic all those vorns ago had led him to face some realities around what the Decepticons would do to Jazz if they caught him. Death would be the kindest act. It was not something he liked to dwell upon.

"So." Jazz continued, his fingers tightening a little on Prowl's hands. "Chances are I ain't gonna be around for that much longer; an' from what I've seen lately we're gonna lose this war anyway. Prime'll keep fightin' so long as he can but things're gettin' pretty desperate.

"But while I was away, I realised somethin'. I ain't lookin' forward to th'end, but I'm prepared for it. What I _ain't_ prepared for is the idea of _you_ sufferin' the same."

"Me?" Prowl asked blankly.

Jazz nodded tightly.

"You're a strategist. If they catch ya, they ain't just gonna shoot ya. Not now. A coupla vorns ago things were a bit different, but now they'd dredge ya for every little detail. They wanna find every mech out there, Prowler. Every single one. An' they ain't in no mood for a truce, even wit'Neutrals."

Prowl shivered at the thought then realised Jazz was also shaking.

"I'm sorry, Sparkles. The thought of it just makes me feel sick. I've seen'em catch others an' if they caught _you_..."

Prowl tried to think about it logically and felt his programming stall. Rebooting he tried again.

Jazz was being pragmatic. Prowl liked pragmatism. Usually.

"An' that's why," Jazz continued unsteadily, "that's why I made a decision. I can't watch that happen. I can't see ya hurt like that. So... I've changed my mind."

The statement made no sense.

"Changed your mind?" he echoed blankly.

"About bonding. If it comes down to it, you're better dead than sufferin', an' the only way I can make sure you die clean is if I kill ya m'self, an' this's the only way I can be sure I can do it before they get too far. I'll do it. Primus help me it could kill us both before the vorn's out, but I'll do it. If you still want to, I agree. I'll bond wit'ya."

* * *

It was not easy to organise. They needed some uninterrupted time together, utterly _alone_ together, and in some way that would not raise suspicions.

It was almost inconceivable that they could achieve it, given the constant threat of Decepticon attack and the need to know where everyone was at all times. But Prowl was built for finding solutions to complex problems and he found a way. With some clever manipulation he managed to get them both assigned to a shuttle run out to one of the Autobot outposts.

Ironically, they were able to enlist Curveball's assistance in that arrangement. He knew about their relationship, so Jazz could beg openly for the opportunity for some private time following the long and stressful mission he had just completed. Amused, the Chief of Special Operations even offered to back up any excuse they might make for an unscheduled stop on one of the uninhabited asteroids or planets they would be passing, just as long as they could make it plausible.

Of course, if he had had any idea of what they were really planning he would never have supported it.

It was, without question, an insane idea. Bonding was prohibited and carried a penalty of immediate exile from the Autobot ranks because the death of one would claim the life of the other without much warning, and may well endanger others around them.

With even a faint suspicion of their true plans Curveball would have separated them completely and permanently. But they were careful. Jazz was a master of dissembling and Prowl covered every contingency, and between them they achieved their goal.

Alone on a small asteroid, nervous in a way they had not been since the first time they shared, they settled down on the shuttle's floor. It was difficult to concentrate on the details of the ritual that Prowl had obtained during his research phase but they got through the formalities of the spiritual part eventually and finally all that remained was the physical connection.

It was supposed to be done with optics powered down, though as with the previous parts there was no explanation as to why. They manoeuvred into position with a minimum of fuss, and as the senior of them Jazz was supposed to take the lead. But moments passed with no progress.

"What's wrong?" Prowl murmured.

Only silence greeted his question, so he onlined his optics and looked at the mech kneeling across from him.

"No second thoughts now." he chided gently.

"Once this's done, there's no undoin' it."

"I know that."

Jazz had turned his face away, visor glowing in the darkened shuttle.

"Spark to spark they say there's no secrets. What if y'don't like what you see?"

"I love you. Nothing you can show me can change that."

Jazz seemed about to protest but Prowl leaned forward to kiss him, preventing the doubting words, then pulled back a little.

"I trust you. Trust me."

He no longer cared what ritual demanded. Triggering a sequence that he had spent groons practising privately in front of a mirror to ensure it happened smoothly, he parted his chestplates and pushed his sparkchamber forward through the mechanisms in his chest before allowing it to iris open.

He could not see his own spark, only a tinge of golden light reflecting off Jazz's white armour, but the sight seemed to transfix his lover.

"So beautiful." Jazz murmured.

"For you and only you." Prowl promised him. "Always."

Jazz's visor flickered for a moment, then his own chestplates moved. The movement was not as smooth as what Prowl had achieved through practice, and his sparkchamber was much more deeply buried behind what seemed a great deal of redundant panelling. When it emerged Prowl gasped to see grooves and scars and pitting on the surface.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out to stroke the surface to confirm what he was seeing, and he felt Jazz shiver beneath his touch.

"How?" he asked helplessly.

"Cons."

"Torture! I thought you said you'd never been caught...?"

"Games. Goin' for the spark too soon in interrogations just kills the prisoner, so they usually don't..."

"Stop." Prowl interrupted. "It doesn't matter, it's in the past."

"This is who I am, Sparkles."

"It's only part of who you are. I want to see all of you."

He moved his hand to the side of the warm chamber, supporting it, and after a moment it slowly stuttered open.

Within he saw a golden orb, like a small star though not as bright. He had been vaguely expecting something like the spark he had seen all those vorns ago when when the Decepticons had started creating those split-spark near-drones, but where that had been faint and greyish, this had a core that looked almost liquid, more like energon.

It was more than just the difference between what he had expected and what he now saw that held his attention, though. Even at this distance, even without contact, he could feel his own spark resonating with it, reaching for that light and warmth and essential core that was _Jazz_.

He had no words for what he was feeling, just the sense of utter rightness and surety that that tightly swirling ball of energy was _Jazz_ : even more than his name, even more than the frame he wore, even more than any physical manifestation. This energy had been the same when it resided within the Well of Allsparks, and would be the same when it returned there.

A hand curled around his neck, pulling him closer, and he gasped in anticipation as they moved together. The heat before him was incredible yet it did not burn. Warmth spread from his chest, enveloping him entirely. And then contact was finally made and the physical world disappeared entirely.

For an endless moment, he _knew_ Jazz entirely.

Everything he had ever done, every word he had ever spoken, every thought he had ever had, every emotion he had ever felt. It was all there, just like his own experiences were, and the two intertwined and melded and spun into an intricate structure that was only one, no longer two.

He was no longer conscious of himself as an individual, only as _us_. The memories swirled around them, and they were all shared, all understood, all accepted.

Slowly something moved into prominent view. A peculiar vision, like two images superimposed.

/Me./ they thought. /And you. Us./

The clarity of the memories blurred, leaving impressions rather than facts, and the reality of what they were doing struck them hard.

This was for forever. How could they justify making such a commitment?

The connection between them wavered, threatening to split out into individuals again.

/I'm afraid./

/ _We're_ afraid./ the other side countered. /But we can survive, together./

/Together./ the first confirmed.

Together. The word echoed around them as emotion swamped them, the connection becoming even more intense.

Too intense. Too much. It burned, it felt like something was tearing. One of them faltered.

/Something's... wrong.../

/Stay with me./ the other begged, doing... something... that added strength to the other half.

All the intensity and fear melted into a comforting warmth, an unshakeable certainty that everything was right.

/We're one./

As abruptly as it had started, it was over.

Prowl found himself slumped over Jazz, entirely spent, their sparks both concealed away again within their chests. He did not have enough energy even to raise his head to see if Jazz was online.

Then he realised he did not have to. He could _feel_ that Jazz was online. Struggling, like he was, but online.

"You're so young." Jazz rasped, static marring his words.

"You knew that."

"No. Not _that_ young. We..."

His vocaliser gave out, but the message continued.

/We shouldn't've done this./

The words moved between them with a sense of despair and guilt that a normal comm line could never convey.

/We _needed_ this./ Prowl countered. /Can't you feel how right this is?/

More than anything else, what remained clear to him was the depression that held Jazz so tightly. He hated some of the things he was forced to do, the choices he was compelled to make, and the fact that none of it seemed to make any lasting difference. Without Prowl around to think of, by now he would have either taken his own life or gotten careless enough to let someone else take it.

/You're _everything_ to me./

Neither of them were sure which had thought it, but both agreed without reservation.

A second, joint message moved between them even stronger than the first. A thought so simple and pure, and yet so vastly different in depth of meaning than they could have imagined before.

/I love you./

In spite of all their rationalising it all came down to this: Love.

* * *

Jazz sipped pensively at his energon, staring down at where Prowl was still curled up offline on the floor but not really seeing him.

The knowledge from earlier was gone. He remembered knowing everything about Prowl, every moment he had ever known, every thought he had ever had, but the detail had faded. Only a few things remained and they were more vague impression rather than clear recollection.

Prowl was much younger than he had understood. Far, far too young to be as sophisticated as he was.

How his spark had been formed - made or split, he could not be a whole spark because he had never set pede on Cybertron, a startling concept in its own right - was irrelevant; he should have needed at least fifty vorns in a basic frame before he was ready for an upgrade to an adult frame. The failure rate of trying to speed up the process was well documented and well known. His occasional glitches and freezes now seemed far more ominous: he had been forced through development at a pace that had killed many others.

Who were the ones who had dared take that risk? Who was the mechanic who had agreed to construct the frame? Who was the medic who had performed the activation? And most importantly of all, who was the mentor who had relentlessly pushed upgrades and training onto a defenceless infant?

Prowl himself did not seem to know. He knew that at times he had been uncomfortable or overwhelmed, but he held no animosity for those that had raised him.

Jazz could not be so forgiving. He had known Prowl was underage, but he had thought it was only by a few decades, a century at most. He had never suspected it might be twice that and the thought now made him feel sick.

Carrying on in a committed relationship with a converted pre-adult was one thing, anyone mature enough to handle the final upgrades should be able to make decisions for themselves and Jazz had never agreed with the arbitrary legal requirement of 250 vorns. But doing so with someone a third of that age? He was disgusted at the thought of it. Normally he would have condemned anyone even considering it, it was obscene.

But nothing about this situation was normal.

What was done was done and he could not even begin to pretend he regretted it. Whatever doubts he might have had before about his own actions and motivations were irrelevant. He and Prowl were bonded. He could _feel_ how much that meant to the younger mech. And there was no way to make reparation now that it was done.

The only relief was that his original motivation was still valid. If Prowl were ever captured he need only kill himself to spare the youngling the experience of torture. Given how badly the war was going for the Autobots right now, it was a mercy that held a lot of value.

He just had to find a way to rid himself of the guilt of doing any of this at all.

Prowl stirred, interrupting his brooding, and Jazz knelt down beside him. Kissing him softly, he reached out for the connection they had used at the moment of bonding. Would it still work as well now?

/Hey there, gorgeous./

Apparently it did. He felt Prowl's pleasure at the connection, and the moment Prowl registered the traces of fuel in his kiss, and an echo of the faintly stale taste of energon on his lips. Then a wave of startlement as Prowl's optics flickered on.

"I can feel you."

Jazz grinned.

"Of course y'can. What were ya expectin'?"

Prowl shook his head, optics darkening in concern.

"It will make it difficult for us to keep this secret."

"Point." Jazz agreed. "Good thing I ain't around much, I guess."

There was a definite sense of strong displeasure from Prowl at that response, but then the sense faded and suddenly it felt as though Prowl had vanished even though he was staring right at him.

"Hey! What'd ya do?"

Prowl tilted his head slightly.

"It's a patch program they gave me to help block when they built the hardline connection to Blaster. I wondered if it would work for this too."

"Well it does." Jazz grumbled, realising belatedly that the bond was still intact but was dimmed. "Turn it off."

Prowl frowned.

"No, I think perhaps it should stay in place. Now that this is done, we can't afford for anyone to know. I should give you a copy of the program, then we can be doubly sure."

"I guess so. Best no-one gets suspicious..." Jazz began, then recalled something he had seen in Prowl's memories. "You told Sideswipe about me!"

Prowl sat up, reaching across to pick up the cube that Jazz had abandoned and drinking from it with a satisfied hum.

"I had to tell him something: he thought you were a Decepticon agent."

"Doesn't mean you had t'tell him the truth." Jazz frowned. "Anyway, how come you were so sure I wasn't? He coulda been right. I coulda been sellin' ya out."

"You weren't."

"Y'know that for sure _now_ , but you didn't then."

"I trusted you. And I was right."

"So I should trust that you're right about Sides too? That's askin' a lot, Sparkles. The wrong word in the wrong place could get me killed. Get both of us killed, now."

"He won't knowingly endanger us. But we might draw unwanted attention ourselves if we don't get moving soon, we've been here longer than planned."

Jazz shook his head in bemusement as he watched his lover - his _bondmate_ \- subspace the cube and head for the controls. So much for his guilt over taking advantage: Prowl was more mature and responsible than most mecha three times his age.

"Y'know," he grumbled, heaving himself up, "some'd say it was customary t'take a bit o'time reacquaintin' after a bondin'."

"Work first, Jazz." Prowl responded, not turning. "Perhaps on the way back."

"Fine, fine. But I'll hold ya t'that."

He still felt nothing through the bond, but he did see Prowl's doorwings twitch at that suggestion and the younger mech's tone wavered slightly as he responded.

"Please do."

* * *

"Only two groons left." Jazz commented, returning to the front of the shuttle with two cubes of a light-coloured oil. "Hungry?"

Prowl shook his head faintly, feeling too overwhelmed to fuel now. Jazz put down the two cubes on the edge of the console and wrapped his arms around him.

"We can do this. We did it at the outpost an' it was fine."

Prowl offlined his optics, focusing only on the sensation of Jazz being with him.

The groons spent at the outpost, with Jazz out of sight and completely blocked by the application of the communications program, had shaken him far harder than he had anticipated. Knowing logically that the bond must stay their secret was not enough to counter the illogical fear of how bad it would be when Jazz left on his next mission.

His mask of maturity and control had crumbled more with each passing click, and it had been all he could do to wait for the shuttle door to close before he flung himself into Jazz's lap, desperate for physical contact.

It seemed that Jazz had been right after all: this had been a monumentally stupid idea.

"That was for a limited time period. This..."

"Don't." Jazz interrupted him. "Don't anticipate it. You'll only make it worse."

"I can't help it. I'm a planner. I need to know how long we'll have, how soon you'll be going, how long you'll be gone."

"No ya don't." Jazz assured him. "Y'jus' _think_ ya do. All y'really need t'know is that I'm always wit'ya. Nothin' can break that now, not even the comin' o'the Great Unmaker. It's just that sometimes I'll be physically closer, that's all."

With a final squeeze and a kiss to the top of his helm, Jazz settled into the chair next to him to check the navigational settings.

Prowl rose and paced away, wanting to distract himself and finding nothing of use.

As soon as they arrived they would have to go their separate ways, with no certainty of how long it would be before they could be together again. Just the rumour of a bond could get them sent away to a Neutral camp for safety, so it was best that they give no reason for anyone to speculate.

That was not his only concern, though.

The Decepticon spy that Jazz had tracked on his previous mission had turned out to be Quickquadrant - the Autobot premier tactician and Prowl's superior. Little wonder that so many plans had been leaked and that their losses had been so consistent.

Curveball was dealing with it, apparently, which meant that at some time in the very near future Quickquadrant would either be outed or have an unfortunate accident. Jazz wanted the former, so that the traitor could be interrogated, but it was more likely to be the latter. Prime did not condone cruelty, and politically it did not look good to admit that someone so senior could have betrayed them.

Once he was gone, Prowl would be the only purpose-built tactician in the unit. True, Prime could call in assistance from one of the other units, but Jazz thought that was unlikely. Bringing in an outsider - even from another Autobot unit - was to risk getting another traitor. Better to go with someone already known and trusted. Which meant that he was likely to be propelled upwards into the senior advisory unit sometime in the very near future.

It was what he had wanted, what he had worked for, what he had been created for, but it was also insane.

He was barely eighty vorns old, and he was about to be made Chief Tactical Officer for the entire Autobot army, outranking everyone except Curveball, Ratchet and Prime himself. He needed Jazz's support: without it he was going to be found out, he was going to be exiled. And yet, he knew Jazz was also right. His lover, his _bondmate_ , was always with him. He would cope because he had to, they both would because there was no other choice.

Stopping by the porthole at the rear of the shuttle, he stared out at the stars they were leaving behind.

All those planets, all that space. Why did the Decepticons have to pursue them? Was there truly not room for everyone to coexist?

"Okay." Jazz announced loudly, shaking him from his thoughts. "We've got one point nine nine three groons before we dock, an' about one point two before we come up on their scanners an' get asked for ID."

"I know the itinerary."

"Oh well in that case you know what comes next." Jazz said brightly.

"Next?" Prowl frowned, fighting the urge to reach out through the bond - it was an indulgence they could not afford to develop into a habit so both were actively blocking it even though this might be the last chance in a long time to use it.

He turned physically to see Jazz leering at him.

"Yup. I spend the next point seven groons screwin' ya so thoroughly ya can't even _remember_ yer ID."


	28. Part 6: Dreams and realities, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6, chapter 2 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence ahead

Sideswipe came online to hear Sunstreaker swearing at the quiet chime of their doorbell but making no move to answer it. He brought his chronometer and the link to the Ark's noticeboard up on his HUD - it was the middle of their rest cycle and there were no alerts. So who would be wanting them at this time?

Getting up, he barked a curse for his twin to shut up and paced over to the door ready to bawl out whoever it was.

It was not anyone he might have guessed.

"Jazz?"

He had not actually spoken to the other mech since that strange meeting back on the _Ark_ , but he had seen him around recently. Sometimes on stations where they stopped to reprovision, sometimes amongst off-duty groups in the crowded recreation spaces, sometimes hurrying down corridors.

He knew Jazz had made up with Prowl only because the tactician had confessed to it after the third time he rescheduled their regular boardgame. Whatever Jazz had done all that time ago had clearly been forgiven and Sideswipe had even had the pleasure of seeing the usually composed officer twitch and stammer while trying to avoid the subject. He definitely relaxed more now Jazz was around again, and that on its own made Sideswipe willing to give the long-absent "storesmech" another chance.

What he did not expect was for Jazz to turn up in the middle of his rest period, grinning widely and speaking as though they were old friends.

"Hey Sides, gotta minute? Great, I knew you wouldn't mind. Hey there, Sunny, nice t'finally meetcha! Name's Jazz."

The black and white mech slipped past even before he finished speaking and turned the lights on full before plopping down on a chair.

"I'm gonna kill you, you slagger." Sunstreaker growled, hauling himself off his bunk, but Jazz just raised his hands placatingly.

"Easy, it's cool, I won't keep ya long. But I needed to talk to the two of ya, an' it jus' couldn't wait. I'm scheduled to be off-ship in a groon."

"I thought you were already off-ship." Sideswipe pointed out, shutting the door and sitting on the side of Sunstreaker's berth. "You and Prowl, both."

"We were." Jazz nodded. "We're back."

"Pretty convenient how your shuttle had that weird fault when the two of you were all alone."

Jazz grinned, unrepentant.

"Wasn'it just?"

"So why do you need to disturb _us_?" Sunstreaker grunted, sitting sulkily in the other chair. "Shouldn't you be enjoying yourselves while you've got the time?"

Jazz's smile faded a fraction.

"That's one thing I needed to talk to you two about. Best no-one finds out me an' Prowl're together, okay? He's good at his job, he don't need a lowlife slagger like me muckin' up his promotion chances. An' right now things're changin'. Prime's gonna take a real pers'nal interest in him, an' he can't find out about any o'this."

"He's going to keep up an affair with you while sharing with the _Prime_?" Sideswipe gaped.

Jazz laughed freely.

"Nah, nothin' like that. Prowler's just gonna be promoted - like right to the top. In a few orns he's gonna be takin' Quad's place, which means a whole lotta changes."

"And how would _you_ know something like that?" Sunstreaker sneered.

Sideswipe glanced between them, alarmed. The topic had never come up, so he had never gotten around to telling his brother what Jazz really did for the Autobots, but did Jazz think they knew? In fact, did Jazz know that _Sideswipe_ knew?

For his part, Jazz just leaned back in his chair with a smirk, giving away nothing.

"Hey, I'm king o'th goss, right? I hear everythin' there is t'hear."

"And what's Quickquadrant going to do, if Prowl's taking his place?"

"Dunno." Jazz shrugged. "But word is he ain't gonna see us leave this solar system. About time the fragger got caught, too."

"He's a Con sympathiser?" Sideswipe growled.

" _We_ can arrange an accident." Sunstreaker agreed, flexing his fingers menacingly.

Jazz shook his head.

"From what I hear it's all arranged, Best you two stay out of it - it'll get handled. But once Prowl gets up there he'll be right in the firing line an' he needs someone watchin' his back an' he trusts you two. So. Will ya do it? Keep'im alive?"

Sideswipe began to answer, but Sunstreaker overrode him.

"You know we'll say yes - we owe him."

Jazz met his gaze evenly.

"Yeah, y'do. But I thought you three were friends, too. It ain't no good if you're only gonna do this until y'think you've paid off that debt - he needs someone lookin' out for him. Someone wit'the struts t'stand their ground if it gets nasty."

"Shouldn't he have proper bodyguards if it's that dangerous?" Sideswipe pointed out.

"Sometimes it's better the protection ain't so obvious. Jus' do what ya can, that's all I'm askin'."

* * *

Mirage double-checked the shuttle's settings. The engine was warm, it was fully fuelled, and he had clearance to launch at his discretion. All he was missing was his passenger.

Officially he would have no such passenger. He would leave the _Escaphalion_ alone, and return alone just as he often did. But if the records always told the complete truth he would be a very poor agent indeed.

A soft clicking on his comm channel announced a welcome presence and he left the shuttle just as the door opened, smiling as Hound strode in.

"I thought you would arrive too late."

"Aw, you know I'd always see you off, Raj." Hound smiled back, hugging him.

The movement was just slightly awkward since he had to keep his holoemitter free from obstruction, but they had played this game enough times that Mirage easily compensated without even thinking about it. He swung Hound around then slid his hand along his lover's shoulder to guide him slowly back towards the shuttle.

"I will not be gone for long on this trip. Perhaps as many as three orns, though it seems unlikely."

"I'll be lonely."

"As will I."

A final embrace and kiss and they parted ways, Hound winking and waving as Mirage returned to the shuttle and sealed the hatch. A breem later he was in open space, the small command fleet disappearing behind the bulk of the system's largest planet.

"I do hope you said goodbye, Meister, because you're not going to be back this way for awhile." he commented over his shoulder.

A hatch moved and Jazz slid out of his hiding space.

"Don't I know it. How long've we got?"

"We'll be at your transport in half a groon at this speed. Do you need me to slow down?"

"Nah, I've already done the backup an' put up the firewalls. Guess I should finish off the shift. Primus, I hate this disguise."

Mirage heard a long transformation sequence, then a soft clinking, and a tall golden mech settled into the empty seat beside him.

"Noisy." the spy commented disapprovingly.

"Indeed." his companion sighed, in strongly Altihexian tones. "Rather more so than I would usually permit, and yet it forms its own protection. After all, I can never be accused of eavesdropping since there is no possibility I could move silently. How, then, could I be anything other than I what I claim to be? A simple Neutral technician."

As he spoke, the slight movement of his head caused the fine array on his helm to jostle together.

"Will they accept you as such, even so?"

"Most likely not initially. The preparatory work I have done will assist, my name will be known, but it will take time. I'll be patient. As Curveball must be. I will get the information, but it cannot be rushed."

What went unsaid was that a deep cover mission meant no protection. No safety net. If an opportunity arose and the base was attacked, no-one would know to watch for him. Good deep cover agents were lost to friendly-fire far more often than being caught.

It was not the way Meister usually worked to use a single cover story for such a long period, not in all the time Mirage had known him. It would mean _becoming_ this character full-time for however long it took, not just playing at it temporarily. The only similar situation was his role as "Jazz", but he was rarely in that role for more than a couple of vorns without a break and had other agents around who knew who he really was.

"Be careful."

"Always."

* * *

Two orns after Jazz disappeared on his next mission - a mere three point nine orns since they had bonded - Prowl was back on duty in just another routine shift. For once the office was very quiet: only he and Quickquadrant present, the others all either off-duty or elsewhere on various tasks.

The chief tactician had been subtle, Prowl mused as he sorted the data into the appropriate categories. Now that he looked back, really looked, he could see where deliberate decisions had been made which had put mechs in danger. But it had been done carefully - _planned_ \- so that while sometimes it was senior staff in trouble, mostly it was the juniors, the rookies. That way their deaths could be blamed on inexperience, or misinterpretation of orders.

It was sickening.

"Prowl? What is this?" Quickquadrant spoke up abruptly.

Prowl looked up and saw a tactical scenario playing out on the planning table. Accessing the file data, he realised it was one of his own alternatives to Quickquadrant's plan which had cost the Autobots fifty-eight lives twelve vorns ago.

But how could that be? He had carefully deleted all those scenarios he had run, he knew he had. There should be no trace of them.

"I... was just testing an alternative strategy." he explained. "It occurred to me, and I wanted to test it. I'm not sure how it got filed - I'll delete it."

The table flickered as the scenario changed, changed again, again, again... each time, a costly battle revisited. But where was he accessing this information from, Prowl wanted to know. He knew he had cleared it all from the system. He had avoided entering it into Teletran at all: he had used the memory cache of the table alone, using his own inbuilt tactical processor to work out the variables.

"You've been busy in your off-time, it seems." Quickquadrant mused.

"I'm always looking to improve, sir."

"And yet you haven't selected _every_ conflict, have you?"

"Just the most costly, sir."

"So you say, but I don't see the battle on Caldia here."

Of course not because that had been planned by Ultra Edix's crew before they had arrived to support it, but what excuse could he give for that? They had lost twenty-three mechs in that battle.

"It was one that I could not see a viable alternative to yet, sir." he tried. "I am still working on..."

Quickquadrant had paced over to him and suddenly had a rifle in his hand, barrel pressed to Prowl's chest.

"Sir!"

"Who have you told?"

"No-one! I was just testing scenarios. I just..."

" _My_ scenarios. And not all of them, either. Just _those_ ones. How did you figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

The rifle pressed harder against him, scratching the plating, and Quickquadrant's empty hand reached around to grab the edge of one of Prowl's doorwings and dig in to the seam near the edge.

" _Who have you told?_ "

"No-one!" Prowl gasped, trying to focus through the agony coming from his doorwing.

What was he going to do? What if Quickquadrant just shot him here and now? The pain was making it so hard to concentrate, and all he could think of was that Jazz would die without even knowing what had happened.

"Tell me or I'll tear it off." Quickquadrant warned, tugging on the appendage hard enough that Prowl's vision filled with warning messages.

"P-please..."

It was clearly not the word the senior tactician wanted to hear, and more pressure was applied. There was a horrible groaning sound as the hinges bent and the plating buckled, and Prowl thought he screamed but he was not sure. Not that it would make a difference, the room was soundproofed to stop anyone without clearance overhearing their planning sessions.

Quickquadrant was talking again, but he could not focus on the words - everything was just pain. He just hoped it ended soon.

It did not. The next thing he knew he was being flung against a wall, and then a hand was holding him by the chin, fingers digging into the soft facial derma.

"How much does Prime know?"

"I d-don't..."

A punch to the torso silenced him.

"How much?"

Prowl realised suddenly that Jazz had been entirely right. He was not cut out for this kind of work.

They had had a talk about what to do if he were captured and interrogated and Jazz had told him to just give in and tell them anything they wanted to know. He had argued that he could hold out for awhile, and had been sorely disappointed that Jazz had had so little faith in him. Yet here he was, less than half a breem into this, and he knew he had to make it stop.

"Everything! I don't know. I haven't told him anything."

"Then who did?"

"I don't..."

" _Who_?"

"Curveball!"

The fingers loosened, dropping him, and he fell awkwardly in a heap, keening helplessly as he landed on his mangled doorwing. There was more noise then but his systems were overtaxed with data and he could not process anything else.

Then everything got worse.


	29. Part 6: Dreams and realities, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6, chapter 3 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: off-screen character death and gory details

It was all over the ship when the twins got back from their brief mission to an asteroid mining camp: Quickquadrant had had a meltdown, attacked his assistant, then killed himself.

Everyone agreed that he had been under a lot of stress recently with so many mecha getting killed in battle, and that more should have been done to support him.

It was a tragedy.

"But what happened to Prowl?" Sideswipe asked.

No-one seemed to know, or care. After all, he was only a junior officer and best known for his role in punishing prankers and organising work rosters, the temporary lack of which no-one minded too much.

They were all focused on the upcoming memorial for Quickquadrant - who had been an Autobot for nearly six hundred vorns, Prime's first and most trusted strategist and key to a vast number of their most decisive victories - and how they were going to manage in the next battle without tactical support.

Sideswipe extricated himself from the crowd, hurrying away and cursing bitterly.

Something must have gone wrong with the plan, Quickquadrant must have found out that they were on to him. But if that were the case it meant that Prowl could have been seriously hurt, or even killed.

He tried the tactical office, but all he saw there were puddles of energon being cleaned up by a pair of minibots. Next he tried the repair bay, but it was mostly empty and Prowl was most certainly not there.

A quick comm message to Sunstreaker confirmed that Prowl was not in the washracks, nor the training salles, nor the rec room he usually frequented.

Dashing down the corridors, weaving through the crowds, he made it to the officers hall and frantically typed his passcode into the door. Prowl had to be here. It was the only option left.

"Prowl!" he cried as he burst through the door, stumbling into someone.

He had found him at last, and the first thing he focused on was his horrific condition: it looked as though he had just come from the battlefield.

Prowl was sitting on his berth, spattered in energon. One of his doorwings was hanging on a thoroughly unnatural angle, there were gouges in his cheeks that were still dripping, and his torso armour was dented and scratched.

He was not alone, though, and Sideswipe suddenly wondered what he had walked in on as he took in the company: Ratchet, Curveball and Optimus Prime. It was Prime he had just barrelled into and he backed up hurriedly, wincing when he saw the streaks of red paint he had left on Prime's leg and aft.

"Uh... on second thought maybe I'd better come back later..."

"Sideswipe what are you doing here?" Ratchet demanded. "And how did you get the code to Prowl's private quarters?"

"We meet off-duty to play strategy games at times." Prowl answered for him.

"Hold still." Ratchet scowled, turning his attention back to his patient. "You're aggravating those cuts."

"I suppose you knew about this?" Prime turned to Curveball.

"Of course. And actually, it works out rather well. He may need some protection, given your intentions. The twins certainly qualify for that kind of role."

"Hmm." Prime murmured, then turned back to Sideswipe. "I will see you and your brother in my office at change of shift."

"R-right."

"That was a dismissal, Sides." Ratchet told him over his shoulder. "Scat!"

* * *

The door closed behind Sideswipe and Prowl bowed his head.

"Sir, what will happen now? I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

"Wasn't your fault." Ratchet told him, leaning over him to examine a wound at the base of his neck.

"But I killed him." Prowl shivered. "I didn't mean to. I don't even remember picking up the rifle, I just had it and then..."

"Self defence." Curveball assured him. "We understand."

They did not know that he knew the truth. Could not know. Without Jazz's information he would never have guessed and would not have been revisiting those old scenarios in the first place. Prime and Ratchet did not know he was sharing with Jazz, and Curveball trusted Jazz to have not told him. And Jazz had not, at least not directly: it was the bond that had spilt that secret.

So as far as they were concerned he had no idea why Quickquadrant had attacked him, thus he was feeling guilty over killing an innocent mech. Instead, the truth was that he _did_ know and he was guilty over being such a glitch as to precipitate this when they had had some other way of dealing with it. As it stood, he had made a far bigger mess for them, and probably ruined his chances of ever being senior tactician.

After all, who would ever be able to trust him now?

"I murdered my supervisor." he whispered, still shocked at the thought.

He had killed the enemy in battle; of course he had. But it had always been at a distance. Mostly through directing others, and sometimes with the use of a missile or other ranged weapon.

This was different. He had shot Quickquadrant at close enough range that the mech's fluids had splattered onto him. And not just once.

The first shot had disabled the traitor and would have been enough. He could have called for security and left it at that.

But he had been so frightened of so many things. Frightened that Quickquadrant might have another weapon, might turn the tables again, might escape. Or that he might tell Prime that Prowl _knew_ and that Prowl knew that _Prime_ knew, which logically he could never have known unless someone had _told_ him so. Which would have brought Jazz into it.

So he had shot again. And again. He had lost count of how many times he pulled the trigger. He had only stopped when someone had taken it from his hands, and then he had caught a glimpse of the mangled mess on the floor before someone blocked his view.

"...shock." Ratchet was murmuring, now on the other side of the room talking quietly to the other two. "It would be better to give him some recovery time."

"And time to ensure we've got all the angles covered." Curveball agreed. "I've got my team spreading the story it was suicide and the ensign who found them is already off-ship, but we've got to make sure we catch everyone who saw the body."

"Can we afford to allow that time?" Prime frowned. "I agree with both of you, but our options are limited. It's likely the Decepticons have already heard that Quickquadrant has died - it's only a matter of time before they try to press the advantage."

"I can work." Prowl spoke up hurriedly, horrified at the thought of being left with no duties to perform, to be left with nothing but time to think over what he had done. "Please. Please, sir, if you'll give me just one chance, I can work. I could even do it from the brig if you'll trust me. I have an inbuilt tactical processor, so I don't need..."

"From the brig? _If_ we trust you?" Ratchet echoed. "Didn't you hear us? It was self defence."

"But..."

Prime waved him into silence.

"You say you can work. I will take you at your word. Ratchet, how soon can you have Prowl up on his pedes?"

"The repairs will take a couple of orns to be finished. I'll need some parts fabricated."

"Can you make it look like they're finished by end of third shift?"

Ratchet scowled but agreed.

"Good. See to it. Prowl, I will be promoting you into Quickquadrant's position. I realise this is rather sudden but there is more going on here than you are currently aware of and I need a tactical advisor visibly in place. You will attend Quickquadrant's memorial and say nothing of what occurred today, and then you will be confirmed as his successor.

"Curveball, you will bring Prowl up to speed in time for our briefing tomorrow. And Prowl - no more talk of murder. The official line is that Quickquadrant was overstressed and committed suicide."

"With a scatterbomb." Curveball nodded. "You were just lucky to be out of range of most of it."

"But that's... not true." Prowl stammered.

He understood that Curveball would lie. Jazz did it too. They would never last long in their jobs if they did not. But the Chief Medic? And _Prime_?

"I have learned that sometimes it is better to let mechs believe what they wish." Optimus sighed, tiredly. "I am not asking you to lie, simply to not contradict what has been said by others. Quickquadrant was a friend. I knew him for a long time. Today's events are as much a tragedy as if that had been the truth."

* * *

Sideswipe stood to attention in the empty office wondering what was going on, Sunstreaker standing to his left and muttering darkly in the subsonic range about disowning him. That was pure bluster, but this situation was definitely strange.

Prowl had been a complete mess, but none of the stories circulating had mentioned that. His injuries had been serious enough that he should have been in the repair bay, yet he had been in his quarters. Why was that? The only answer he could come up with was the one Jazz had warned them of: that once Prowl was promoted, he would be in danger.

Primus, how much danger could he be in while still on board the Ark? The repair bay had to be one of the safest places on the entire ship! Or did Prime really think one of the medics was a traitor, too? Sideswipe was starting to feel paranoid, looking twice at every mech he passed in the hall. And what if he was actually _right_?

"Good, you're here." Optimus declared as he entered and moved around them to his desk.

Sideswipe flinched, seeing the red streaks still marring white.

"Sorry about before, sir."

"I would advise you to knock and wait for permission to enter in future." Prime said drily.

"Is he okay, sir?" Sunstreaker asked.

"He will be." Optimus nodded, then settled in his chair and looked at them consideringly. "I understand you are close friends with Prowl?"

"Kind of." Sideswipe hesitated. "As close as anyone, I guess."

"Sides only spends so much time with him because he was forced to." Sunstreaker volunteered unhelpfully. "It was a punishment."

"Is this true?"

"Well, yeah, mostly."

"Indeed?" Prime mused. "In that case it seems I will not require your assistance after all. Thank you."

Sunstreaker turned to leave, but Sideswipe hesitated.

"But I thought you were going to get us to protect him? Isn't that what Curveball said?"

Prime looked at him curiously.

"I would imagine you have been compelled to spend enough time in his company."

"No, he's... he's a friend. I - we - want to help."

"Both of you?"

Sunstreaker grumbled a little, but nodded. Prime looked from one to the other other in bemusement, then nodded slowly.

"Yes, that was the plan."

Sideswipe glanced at his twin, then stepped forward boldly.

"We'll do it."

"Very well. If you are willing, that would be preferable."

"Great!" Sideswipe cheered, turning to leave, then hesitated. "So, ah, what was it exactly you wanted us to do?"


	30. Part 6: Dreams and realities, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6, chapter 4 of 4

"So how did this start?"

Prowl was startled out of his daze by the abrupt question, the first to be asked in a while.

"Sir?"

"Why did he attack you?"

He had been expecting this particular question, though not from Ratchet. He had thought it would come from Prime or Curveball.

The medic had settled him facing backwards on an armless chair and had given him some drugs to dull his senses along with the physical sensory blocks he put in place. The blocks on the circuitry attached to his doorwings did peculiar things to his sense of balance, and he had to keep clinging to the back of the chair tightly to convince himself that he was not falling.

Some tool clinked against metal and he registered a small tremor from the contact but could not be sure what procedure was taking place. It was all very disorienting and the conversation was a welcome relief as something to focus on.

"He found some scenarios I had been working on in my spare time. I don't know how he found them. I thought I'd deleted them all."

"Teletran keeps a record of everything."

"But I wasn't using Teletran's systems, just the projection table. The rest I did in my own processor."

Ratchet paused to search through his toolbox.

"Just because you didn't use the active interface doesn't mean Teletran couldn't record it." he commented. "But there must be more to it than that. So he found some extra-curricular work you'd been doing, doesn't sound to me like any reason to start treating you like a training drone. I could do with some of _my_ trainees taking the initiative a bit more."

"Well I think it was what I was basing the scenarios _on_." Prowl said hesitantly, trying to pick his way through the conversation without letting Ratchet guess how much he knew.

In this situation, had he not been forewarned he would likely be wary about accusing his supervisor of treason. Of course he was unlikely to have reached this point _without_ that knowledge, so how could he have come across it by accident?

"For many vorns now, as well as completing my assigned tasks I've been submitting potential tactical plans for some of our larger actions and he has been helping me to refine them. But I noticed that sometimes when he turned down my scenarios the casualty rate was higher than what I had predicted. So I started trying to determine why he was ignoring my advice."

He paused there, reviewing what he had said.

It sounded plausible. It was certainly all true, and verifiable. The only stretch of the truth was the last statement.

While he had been frustrated by Quickquadrant's attitude at times, he had never questioned it. He had trusted the senior tactician to know what he was doing, and had believed the excuses that the plan had simply been poorly executed, or that there had been an unforeseen variable, or that inexperience had caused undue panic at an inopportune moment and proven costly.

"You questioned him directly on this?" Ratchet prompted him, grunting a little as he did something, his efforts rewarded by a rather unpleasant creaking sound.

"No, sir. I thought perhaps..."

"Prowl?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Drop the 'sir' bit or I'll find my wrench in a few clicks and start giving you dents to remind you."

"But... As you wish. Well I did not talk to him about any of this. I thought perhaps _I_ was missing something, after all he was Prime's advisor and it was likely there was information that I was not privy to. Even so, the figures seemed somewhat high..."

Ratchet growled at that comment, then dropped one tool to the floor with a clatter and picked up another.

"Don't stop there. Finish what you were saying."

"Si... ahem, Ratchet. It's just... I'm not sure what to say. I found some alternative strategies which I believe would have worked better, but it hardly matters after the fact. I only deleted them because I did not want to offend him by seeming to question his strategies. And he _was_ offended, but his reaction was so much more violent than I could have imagined."

Ratchet sighed heavily.

"Don't know why he did it. Guess we'll never know, now. But..." He paused, then moved around the chair so he was facing Prowl. "The truth is, Quickquadrant was a traitor."

Prowl did not let himself twitch just yet. He had to do this carefully.

"A traitor? In what w... Wait. You mean he _intended_ those deaths!"

"Didn't say that." Ratchet told him gruffly. "We don't know that. All we know is he was leaking parts of the plans to the Cons, and they were using the data to ambush us."

Hearing it stated so plainly was a shock even after what he already knew and left him silent. After a moment Ratchet went back to work, and for awhile there was silence between them. But the more that Prowl considered Ratchet's words, the more obvious the truth became and eventually he spoke up.

"It was more than that."

"What?"

"He was actively setting traps. It's the only explanation for some of the decisions he made. I thought there must be variables I was missing, but the only variable to make sense was if it was to assist the enemy."

"You can prove that?"

"Of course. It's all there in the plans."

"Then we need to delete those plans." Ratchet grunted.

"Why? They are the proof."

"Quickquadrant's being memorialised as a hero. It's good for the cause. It _isn't_ good for the cause if someone later finds out the Cons got to someone who was that close to Prime. Makes mecha start wondering who they can trust, and then they stop following orders, and that gets _more_ mecha killed.

"Alright, that's that done. It'll hurt like the pit when the painkillers wear off, but for the next three groons it'll hold in place. Do your best to keep your doorwings still - the more you move them, the worse it'll be later, trust me. Right, lets get your face sorted out and then I'll have a look at what we can do with your armour."

* * *

The memorial service was long and he started feeling twinges from his patched wounds less than halfway through. When it was finally done he was looking forward to doing nothing more strenuous than resting but Curveball indicated for him to follow, and he remembered belatedly that Prime had instructed the CSO to fill him in.

"I know you don't like me." Curveball grunted once they were alone. "Most don't. You might've heard I used to be a Decepticon, and that's true. My unit followed Megatron when he rebelled against the High Command's ineffectual blustering, accepting conditions on our behalf that only the seriously glitched would tolerate, and I followed the orders I was given.

"I was a soldier and soldiers do what they're told. I'm not going to apologise for any of that. And when I saw where things were going I made the choice to change sides, but that doesn't mean I need to make friends.

"I'm here because someone's got to deal with Megatron, and Prime's the only one who's trying. Talking won't do it, surrendering won't do it. Megatron doesn't want to win, he wants to destroy.

"I'm not a soft-sparked Autobot, trying to save everyone in the universe, and I've never pretended to be."

He stopped abruptly, brooding, and Prowl waited uncomfortably. His doorwing joints were aching dully and he was tired, but Prime's instruction had been for Curveball to brief him, so he would wait and listen.

"So that's me." Curveball said shortly. "And then there's you. Not much history there, is there?

"Did you even guess your boss might be up to something? Ha. I've talked to the Hatchet and he told me what you said. Didn't have a clue, did you? Well, don't feel so bad. Neither did we, for a long time.

"He was subtle. Didn't give away whole plans, just small details and not every time. Made us think it was someone junior who couldn't get better access. Clever."

Prowl tried not to frown, but it sounded almost like Curveball admired Quickquadrant's cleverness.

"And then," the CSO grunted heavily, adjusting his weight as though suddenly as tired as Prowl felt, "when we _did_ know, Prime wanted to wait to be sure. Wanted more proof. Couldn't believe old Quad'd really sold him out after all those vorns.

"I thought we might have to wait until Quad did it again. Didn't want to, but Prime knows how I think and made me swear I wouldn't act without his permission. And look what happened - it nearly cost us you.

"On the other hand, though, it didn't did it? And now it's all sorted."

Curveball folded his arms and smiled triumphantly.

"How can you be certain I am not the same?" Prowl asked when it became clear Curveball was waiting for a reaction. "How can Prime be sure?"

"Good questions. Prime's sure because Trip and I are. And we are for a couple of reasons.

"Firstly, Quad's been trying to kick you out almost since you got here. He was the one who wanted you here at the beginning, but then suddenly he didn't anymore. Guess he figured out that you were actually competent. Fact is, if you hadn't been so useful to Tripwire's lot you woulda been transferred vorns ago and we woulda been none the wiser.

"Given what we know now, the more he wanted you out, the less likely you were on his side.

"And secondly, because the Cons'd never use a youngling as a spy, not one pretending to be an adult. They wouldn't believe anyone could pull it off. I wouldn't've believed it myself if I hadn't seen it."

He grinned broadly and opened a cupboard stuffed with datapads.

"Which doesn't mean I won't keep watching you just as close as anyone. Welcome to the team. Now lets start talking details - we've got a _lot_ to go over."

* * *

_Epilogue_

At first Sideswipe thought Prowl was just angry about the orders from Prime. Then he realised he was drugged against the pain of his earlier injuries. Then he realised he was drugged _and_ angry _and_ in pain.

"This arrangement is unacceptable!" he insisted, swaying drunkenly and having to cling to Sideswipe's arm to keep his balance. "It's abuse of power! It's... wait. Haven't I had this conversation already?"

"If it'll help you calm down, then sure." Sideswipe offered.

"I won't have it. I don't need bodyguards, and I _certainly_ don't need _secret_ ones."

"Look, it's just an excuse for us hanging around so much, and it's just like what I've been doing anyway so no-one'll think it's weird. We're not _really_ going to be being punished so it doesn't matter."

"But everyone'll think you are!" Prowl argued forcefully, then whimpered. "Oh. Remind me not to do that again."

"What, shout?"

"No, move my... ow. Ratchet was right, this _hurts_."

Sideswipe scowled.

"Stupid Hatchet. He never gives enough painkillers. Always says it'll teach us not to get hurt, or something like that."

After the memorial service and the announcement of Prowl's promotion, Sideswipe had gotten corralled into moving Prowl into his new quarters. Sunstreaker had helped out initially but had then disappeared off somewhere when it came to the heavy lifting. Typical of him. In their time on the _Ark_ his old vanity had resurfaced and he was unwilling to risk scratching his immaculate paintjob.

He had no idea where Prowl had been, but the tactician had arrived at the end as the last few pieces were being arranged. He had waved them all out of the suite - senior officers got a whole _suite_ instead of just a room with a berth - but Sideswipe had lingered. Good thing he had, too, because when the door closed behind the last of the others Prowl had crumpled to his knees where he was standing.

All he had wanted to do was get Prowl lying down and then go running for a medic, but the tactician had insisted on using the washracks. Since that was an amenity available within a few steps Sideswipe had conceded to the request, but it had proven more difficult than he had imagined and they had stopped two steps short of the small cleaning unit and begun the trek back to the charging chamber.

"It's nice you've got a proper sized berth." he commented as they made their way gradually across the room. "You two can be comfortable finally."

"Which two?" Prowl muttered.

"Glitch. You and Jazz."

Prowl stopped abruptly.

"Jazz?"

"Yeah. Who else?"

"You've seen him?"

"When you both got back from your away trip. He stopped in to see me and Sunny."

Prowl frowned.

"He never told me he was going to see you. I thought... Sideswipe, it's very important. _Very_ important. You can't tell anyone about me and Jazz."

"Sure, I'll keep it secret." he nodded.

Prowl's optics dimmed.

"He had better be being careful." he muttered, then shook his head. "It may be more sensible to avoid speaking of him at all. Then there can be no inadvertant slips. We will likely not see him for some considerable time in any case. And when you _do_ see him, I would prefer it if you did not tell him that I was injured. He is somewhat overprotective. Now I need to wash and charge... wait. Where am I? These aren't the washracks."

"This is your new berth." Sideswipe told him patiently. "If you went into the washracks now you'd only succeed in flooding your engine and having Ratchet yell at you. Do it when you get up tomorrow. You're not dirty, anyway."

Prowl stared at him for a moment.

"I don't like this idea of you two pretending to be on a long-term punishment roster when there's no cause.

"So long as you're not going to make it too unpleasant, there isn't a problem."

"Of course I wouldn't."

"Then there's no problem. Lie down."

"Why are you doing all of this?"

Sideswipe shrugged.

"I guess I like you. Of course, I'd like you _more_ if I didn't get put on rec room cleanup duty quite so often... Aw, I'm only joking. I know - it's got nothing to do with work. Right, here's the charging port. You don't need a hand with that, do you?"

Prowl's expression suggested that perhaps he did and Sideswipe was about to make another joke but Prowl stopped him.

"Could you stay with me?" he asked plaintively. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

He was caught offguard, both by the request and by the strangely juvenile register that had been used to make it. It was eerily like talking to a sparkling, suddenly.

"Sure." he nodded, disconcerted. "No problem. Happy to."

* * *

Prowl woke out of recharge and stumbled off his berth to kneel on the floor. The waste bin should be within reach - his room was not particularly large - but he could not find it. There was no time to search for it, and he moaned as his fuel tank began to purge.

The half-processed energon and residual medications tasted horrible and made a mess on the floor, but he had no energy to care. The fluids spattered onto his torso and legs just like Quickquadrant's had. He could still feel himself covered in it.

He yelped and jerked upright as someone touched his shoulder, then pain registered from his doorwings from the way he had snapped them upwards to identify the intruder and he had an awful moment where he was certain it was Quickquadrant.

"Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

"Hey, hey, easy!" a familiar voice called as the lights came on. "Oh, ew, that's disgusting. Prowl? Prowl, are you online? What happened?"

For a click he thought he was still in the office, but then he realised he did not recognise the room at all. Bewildered, he focused on the speaker, and realised that he at least recognised him.

"S-sideswipe?"

"Yeah. Primus, talk about a nasty way to wake up! Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?"

"I... where am I? Is this the brig?"

"The brig?" Sideswipe echoed. "You really _are_ glitching. You got promoted, remember? These are your new quarters. Which is good, I guess, since if you made that mess in someone _else's_ quarters they'd probably be pretty mad about it. I know _I_ would be."

His memory files finally began to process and he realised that Sideswipe was right. This was an officer's suite. An indulgence, certainly, but Prime's advisors had to have space to talk with guests where they could not be interrupted or overheard, and the administrative wing was not always appropriate for that so they each had a working room as well as their charging room and administrative office.

His promotion meant he would now have staff to direct, and that he would need to find a new tactical apprentice to train so that he had a successor in case things went wrong.

Now _there_ was a strange thought.

"...not listening to me, are you?"

He struggled to his feet, trying not to sob as his doorwings and chest protested the movement, then staggered towards the door.

"Where are you going _now_?" Sideswipe asked, frustrated.

"Need to clean this up."

"You can get a drone to do that."

"No. Can't let anyone know the new tactician's having problems. Bad for morale."

Sideswipe considered that for a minute, then sighed.

"Whatever you say, boss. But _next_ time you ask me to stay the night I'm gonna think twice before I say yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 6.


	31. Part 7: Adjustments, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7, chapter 1 of 5

It was a testament to the experience of the last forty vorns that when Prowl found the office empty and a datapad waiting for him where his assistant should have been he merely sighed and removed the mech's access to the room.

He had once thought that the most difficult part of becoming CTO and serving the Prime directly would be the work itself; he had soon learned differently.

Immediately after his ascension, when he had gone to the tactical office for that first shift, he had been dreading going into the room.

Was anyone suspicious of what had happened? Worse, were any of them also agents for the enemy and how would he know? He had steeled himself and walked in to find them all waiting for him. And before he could speak, every one of them requested an immediate transfer. Within a breem of arriving in his new role, he was on his own.

In some ways that was best, he had decided at the time. It meant he could select his own team and avoid the concern that some of the original staff might be attempting to undermine him. He found some administrative support and began the process of finding an assistant with reasonable tactical skills and experience.

A few orns in, one of his new aides tried to poison him.

That mech was immediately handed over to the security team for interrogation, but he insisted it had been a mistake.

If so, those mistakes kept happening even after he was reassigned elsewhere.

Prowl had lost track of how many times he had had to have his fuel tanks fully purged by the medics, due to suspected poisoning. More often than not the evidence was there - whoever was doing this was persistent.

Meanwhile, there were other attempts at sabotage to deal with. Datapads went missing or got corrupted, terminals developed critical faults, plans got leaked. Tripwire's security force went through the office on four separate occasions, each time finding new recording devices.

Then there was the issue of finding a capable assistant.

There really weren't that many qualified strategists amongst the Autobot ranks; it was primarily military programming, and in the main the Autobots had been civilians. That was, of course, why he had been of such interest when he first boarded the _Ark_ even without a traceable background. Still, there were a few who had studied or had upgrades or had programming that was similar enough to make the transition.

Amongst the chaos of protecting himself and his office and working on viable plans as requested by Prime and approving or rejecting plans made by other Autobot teams, he made his selection for an assistant who he could train up as his second and ordered the transfer. That fell apart when the mech's shuttle developed a navigational fault en route and flew straight into a sun killing all on board.

His second choice, a femme, made it safely to the _Escaphalion_ and worked diligently for two vorns before abruptly resigning and fleeing to a Neutral base. After some intense questioning, she admitted that her life had been threatened if she did not leave and that she was in danger just by admitting that much. She was shifted elsewhere, given a new designation and role and the protection of a personal bodyguard. She was found deactivated within a vorn.

The third assistant appeared to fit in just fine. He had good suggestions, he worked hard on his assignments and produced quality work. Prowl finally had time to focus on the other problems, and things had started to settle down in the tactical office.

It could not last.

Little things started to go wrong, always things that could be easily explained. A message delayed by a few breems, the door being left unlocked while they were all out at a briefing, some unimportant data becoming corrupted. Prowl had suspected one of the newest aides, and had suspended him until this current round of planning was completed. He had not suspected his assistant at all until the mech attempted to murder him.

Had it not been for an unscheduled meeting with the Prime he would have walked into that office unprepared. Instead, an ensign got sent in to retrieve something for him and was blown up when he entered the room.

And so it had gone.

It seemed paranoid to believe that _every_ mech and femme he chose to work with was part of a conspiracy, but the evidence was overwhelming. Either they were personally involved, or they got intimidated into leaving, or they were removed.

It reached the point where several commanders actually refused to send their staff on transfer to his office. There were rumours he was cursed, or perhaps just the job was. Either way, no-one wanted to work there.

This latest assistant had been cavalier about the danger. He had not been as skilled as some of his predecessors, but was cheerful and willing to work and had laughed off the idea that anyone could scare him away.

Clearly now someone had.

Sinking into his chair, he gazed around the empty room. In theory he should have had at least ten staff, working in shifts. He had two aides, one of whom had already been threatened twice and had been assigned a bodyguard of his own.

Shaking his head, he turned to his work. There was no-one else to do it, so he should get on with it.

* * *

Sideswipe tried not to fidget as he stood with his new squad. After getting caught in one too many pranks, Topnotch had insisted that he be assigned to a different unit than Sunny. A bit of shuffling made a space in Team 3, and now they were all listening to a lecture about good conduct.

Not the best way to make friends in a new group.

He supposed he could have appealed to Prowl to get the order changed. Almost everyone who had heard about the imminent change had expected him to - after all, the CTO outranked Topnotch and everyone knew that Sideswipe spent plenty of time with him.

The secret bodyguard assignment had not lasted long at all. A few orns after Prowl was promoted he was assaulted on the way back to his quarters by an old friend of Quickquadrant's claiming the Praxian had murdered his predecessor. Lies, obviously, but the mech was insistent and if Sideswipe had not been there it might have gotten dangerous.

Which led to questions amongst his friends about _why_ Sideswipe had been there. After all, Prowl was no longer responsible for discipline, not since his promotion; that had finally gone back to the security corps, and more specifically to Topnotch.

Which was how Sideswipe had ended up here, now.

In any case, Sideswipe had never seriously considered complaining to Prowl. For one thing, the mech had enough problems to deal with without having to sort out minor details like this. For another, he was not entirely sure Prowl would take his side.

Topnotch had proven far less effective at identifying culprits and handling them than Prowl had been, and it was a sore point with the security lieutenant. Too often, he had made accusations that were wrong and had to retract, so now when he was sure he came down hard.

In a way, Prowl had already helped him. Topnotch knew full well that the most effective punishment for him and Sunny was to separate them. This rostering adjustment was part of that move, but what the mech really wanted to do was put them on separate ships. The problem was, Prowl would never stand for it.

If it ever came to that, he would waste no time in using his connections to ensure he and Sunny stayed together. He had no qualms about begging, if that was what it took. But he needed to pick his moment and he had a sneaking suspicion that Prowl would actually approve of this.

"Dismissed!" Topnotch barked finally, and the group began to disperse.

The mech next to Sideswipe grinned at him.

"Just what'd you do, anyway?"

Sideswipe blinked, then grinned back.

"Glued his office door shut. Problem was, he was inside."

That made his new companion laugh.

"Good one. Hey, I'm Cadmium, squad leader. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks."

On second thought, maybe this change was not so bad after all.

* * *

Prowl made a point of being the first to arrive to senior staff meetings whenever he could. That gave him time to observe who was present and adjust his presentation to his audience.

Technically speaking, it should always be the same small group. Prime; Tripwire, Security Director and second in command; Curveball, Chief of Special Operations and Third in Command; Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer; Broadcast, Communications and Encryptions Officer; and himself as Chief Tactical Officer. This, however, was often not the case.

Ironhide, who had no official rank though was down in the personnel files as "Weapons Specialist" whatever that meant, often accompanied Prime wherever he went so was frequently present. Safestore, the quartermaster, reported to Ratchet but the CMO did not like to give the reports on stores issues so invited his subordinate along without warning. Various commanders were sometimes invited if they were aboard, Ultra Magnus more regularly than most but he was not the only one. Sometimes there were squad leaders with information, sometimes specialists were there from random areas of the crew, sometimes there were officers from the base they were docked at or ships in the current fleet.

Initially Prowl had been flabbergasted by the casual nature of the meetings. Surely this was the most likely source for any number of leaks? He had taken his concerns straight to Tripwire, who had explained that it was all under control.

The logic, if it could be called that, went that it protected Prime and the senior staff from assassins since no-one could anticipate how many mecha would be present. Every time a rumour came through of another attempt the numbers at the meetings increased, but generally it was erratic so there was no pattern.

To compensate for the random attendance, the other senior advisors frequently arrived for these meetings unprepared to actually discuss anything seriously - yet another matter for concern. In fact, with dismaying regularity, extra meetings had to be scheduled at random times and varying locations. This was also seen as an extra security measure by Tripwire and Curveball. To Prowl, it was just an irritation.

Curveball was the first in today, already there before Prowl arrived. The CSO was muttering darkly and jabbing at a datapad, a sign that perhaps they might actually get some work done. Prowl took his place, setting his own pads before him and pulling an extra from his subspace to review. He needed no further preparation for this meeting, but he had no intention of wasting this spare time.

Two full breems later, Ratchet came in and sat beside him.

"What's this I hear about you wanting to increase work shift lengths?" he grumbled.

Prowl looked at him in surprise.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"Nah, that's just a rumour." Curveball grunted, still picking at his datapad. "Just someone stirring stuff up."

"If anyone's doing any stirring, it's either you or you know who it is." Tripwire declared, entering.

Curveball smirked, finally turning off his datapad.

"One of those two, sure."

Broadcast was off-ship so only Prime to come, now, and since they were neither docked anywhere nor had any high level guests at present, the only other he was likely to bring was Ironhide. Prowl was very pleased when Optimus entered alone.

For once, a proper meeting. Miracles apparently _could_ happen.

Curveball snickered and Tripwire looked at him questioningly.

"Something funny?"

"Ah, just our CTO here. So _eager_ to get started, just like a sparkling."

Prowl did not allow himself to so much as twitch. He had had plenty of opportunity over the vorns to learn not to react to Curveball's teasing, and he could be confident no-one here would take it seriously now.

"If there's someone immature here, it's not him." Ratchet commented pointedly. "Some of us _do_ actually have work to do, you know."

"Then lets begin." Optimus said simply, stopping the argument before it could properly get started, and they were underway.


	32. Part 7: Adjustments, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7, chapter 2 of 5

The more time Sideswipe spent with Cadmium, the less he wanted to go back to his old team.

Sure, it meant that he and Sunny were on different schedules, and in combat were in different squads, but as it turned out they were really not that far away. Even on the battlefield, Squad Three worked alongside Squad One and since Cadmium liked him - which Shortblock never had - if Sunny needed him he could usually just go.

Much better.

Besides which, he now had some new conspirators in the prank war. Cadmium would not take part himself, but would happily run interference so long as he got to enjoy the aftermath.

As another bonus, he no longer had to shuffle the duty roster around escorting Prowl.

"Far as I'm concerned," Cadmium had told him, "if we're on board then that's work - you don't have to make up the time. Of course, if I catch you claiming it when you're not..."

Well, maybe he did sometimes. A little. Where was the fun if you always followed the rules?

Interestingly, it turned out that Cadmium was friends with Jazz. Not Jazz-the-spy-messenger, but Jazz-the-storesbot and Jazz-the-prankster.

"Jazz is seriously glitched, but he's got a real gift for a good prank. Almost never gets caught. Problem is, any chance he gets of a safe bolthole, he'll take it. Disappeared for over a century once. Turned up begging to have his job back when the Neutrals he was living with figured out he was one of us and tried to ransom him off to the Cons. He's hopeless in the field, but he's as good as the quartermaster for finding the parts you need, even when they're not on the manifests. Better, sometimes. That's why they put up with him, I guess. Well, that, and he's always happy to share his berth."

It took little time or effort to confirm the stories, and that left Sideswipe a little uneasy. Jazz really did not sound like the kind of mech Prowl should be setting his spark on. "Unreliable but fun" was about the best anyone had to say about him.

He had to balance that up against the truth that Prowl had told him, that Jazz was actually one of Curveball's operatives, but what if _that_ was just another story? What if he was secretly just off seducing someone else?

He had tried suggesting that to Prowl, unsuccessfully. The tactician had listened politely, then smiled and assured him that he knew exactly who Jazz was and told him not to worry. Logical, practical Prowl would not even consider the alternative and seemed fondly amused when Sideswipe persisted. Which left him with two options.

Either Jazz had Prowl so tightly wrapped around his finger that the other mech would never believe the betrayal unless he saw it with his own optics, or he was a far more important - and thus skilled - agent than Prowl had been willing to admit. The former seemed increasingly unlikely as time passed without any word at all, which left him with the theory that Prowl was dating a master spy.

If nothing else it would explain his incredible good fortune with his pranking.

It still did not entirely explain Prowl's unshakeable faith in his lover, but maybe that was just Prowl. Primus knew the mech had enough quirks to keep a personal psychologist employed for vorns if they weren't at war.

In the meantime he would reserve judgement. Given enough time, it would prove to be one way or the other. And woe betide Jazz if he _didn't_ have a good excuse because if he upset Prowl after this huge show of devotion Sideswipe was perfectly happy to make his life thoroughly miserable.

* * *

Prowl sat in the front row of seating in the mostly-empty transport shuttle staring blankly at the wall in front of him, musing that the windowless cabin and heavy shielding made for an uncomfortably dull trip. They were perfectly safe, but the silence was oppressive and the lack of data about their progress meant it was difficult to be certain they were moving at all.

Withdrawing a pad from his subspace pocket, he made a few quick notes. At the very least there could be a data feed from the shuttle's telemetry so passengers could keep track of their location. These shuttles were not sentient, nor even drones, simply unsparked machines. And they never carried civilians, only troops on their way to battle. Or, in his case, as a method to travel between the flagship and Kalisi Station.

His fingers tightened fractionally on the stylus he was holding. He would rather not be on this shuttle at all, and it had nothing to do with the lack of available data. He had travelled in these shuttles many times before and had never had any concerns. On missions approaching battlefields or to inspect barracks or on his way to assess potential supply depot sites he never found himself thinking about the boredom of the trip. But this was different.

Prime had not taken well to the news that Nuance had fled. In spite of all Prowl's protests that he could manage perfectly well on his own for awhile, Optimus had insisted that he find someone competent to help. And when Prowl argued that they had tried recruiting from other units in the fleet in the past with no success, Prime simply ordered him to find somewhere else to look.

Hence his venture out to Kalisi.

Kalisi Station was one of the great pre-war research stations and the only one to remain in Autobot control. When war had broken out on Cybertron there had been confusion and Kalisi went into lockdown. Unlike the other bases, Kalisi had had inbuilt defences because the nearest planet was swarming with Sharkticons. The Decepticons had either ignored it or forgotten about it for awhile, allowing time for some Autobots to head out there and take over.

It was now the main training centre for new recruits and the largest non-Cybertronian manufactory in Autobot control.

It was also where Prowl's mentor had intended him to go, from Ovacalix, to gain experience and a solid military reputation before even attempting to join Prime's crew. It would have meant a far smoother ascension, in theory. But that theory would not have taken into account Quickquadrant's loyalties. As it happened, if he had shown any kind of competence here it was far more likely he would have been shuffled away to some insignificant post vorns before he could catch anyone else's notice.

That, or he would have been quietly killed.

Not so different to his current circumstances, in some ways, but he still did not want to come here. What if one of his mentor's friends recognised him? He had run off on his own out of impatience but those plans had already been in place. The very last place he wanted to go was the Kalisi academy, and particularly the tactical training classes, yet that was precisely where he was going.

The only saving grace he could see was that the military archives were stored here. He needed data to explain why the Decepticons had been so quiet for so long - attempts on his own life notwithstanding - and short of the archives at Iacon this was the best place to find it.

With Primus's blessing he would find someone adequate to appease Prime's concerns, and still use this time away from the _Escaphalion_ fruitfully.

* * *

Time was always relative on a spaceship. You were always either on duty or off duty or resting, and the precise time made no discernable difference. A shift started when it started and stopped a given period of time later, and that's all there was to it. But on a planet or base with solar rotation, all of that changed.

They had left the _Escaphalion_ not much short of their scheduled recharge period, but arrived at Kalisi Station in the middle of the morning. Activity took place during the light time and finished up in the evening, with everyone resting in the dark.

Slipping into place just behind Prowl, he wondered again why they were here. An orn earlier everything had been following the normal schedules, and then suddenly Prowl had announced that he was going to Kalisi. And he did not look at all pleased about it.

A group of officials met them just beyond the docking slip and there was a round of introductions but Sideswipe had little interest in who everyone was. He was more interested in whether they posed a threat, and if not then he could re-focus on trying to puzzle out why Prowl - and thus, he - was here.

Given how eager everyone appeared and how curt Prowl was with his responses, maybe it was some kind of inspection? That could be fun. Or was he here to fire someone? Or to establish a new combat unit? So many possibilities.

"While I am here I will need a secure office, and access to the base archives." Prowl was saying as they headed off, their hosts scrambling to keep up.

"Of course, but if you could just give us some indication of what you are looking for...?"

"I will also be observing some of the classes and will need access to student records."

"I'm not sure that..." one began but was quickly pulled back by another.

"Yes, we can arrange that." the main speaker assured Prowl while the argument continued behind them.

"I don't care if he's slagging Primus in mortal form! He's got no right..."

Prowl abruptly stopped and turned, pointing back behind himself at the complainer.

"What is your designation and role?"

"Sibilant. I teach political history."

"You have an assistant?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Brief him to take over your classes then report to me - you will be my guide."

That left the others speechless for a moment, and Sideswipe cocked his head to the side, activating a comm line.

~Why him?~

~Because he doesn't like me.~ Prowl responded. ~Which means he's either a threat and we need to watch him, or he's simply honest enough to be put out that I am breaking protocol and will tell me what I need to know rather than what he believes I want to hear.~

~Prowl, why _are_ we here? ~

Just as with the last four times he had asked, no answer was forthcoming. It would not stop him asking, but it did make him even more curious. He would get an answer somehow. It was just a matter of time.


	33. Part 7: Adjustments, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7, chapter 3 of 5

No-one approved of his choice of guide. Not the faculty staff, not the academy chancellor, and certainly not Sibilant himself. Prowl had made his choice out of a desire to avoid those who would be too cloying; anyone so open about not wanting him here would not likely be a major threat.

There was no advantage in being rude. Decepticon sympathisers would want to get close to have a chance to harm him, and his mentor's associates would be curious rather than abusive. It did not mean he was safe around Sibilant, but he was certainly more comfortable with that risk than with the chance of hidden agendas.

Sibilant had fought hard to get out of the temporary duty that he saw as demeaning, and was supported strongly by many of his colleagues. Prowl took note of which ones in particular wanted his attention and decided he had no intention of spending any time with them. He let the argument run for a short while, then shut it all down with a suggestion that he should soon report his progress back to Prime. The veiled threat worked perfectly, in spite of the fact he had no intention of doing any such thing, and the belligerent teacher was assigned to his new role, effective immediately.

Point made, Prowl had Sibilant give him and Sideswipe a brief tour of the facility then dismissed him until the morning so they could get some charge. Four groons later, he had roused Sideswipe and headed out. In the meantime, an office had been hastily arranged and access to the war records that had been available on the _Ark_ but were not part of the new flagship's databanks.

A single joor's uninterrupted research gave him a lot to think about.

This was not the first time the Decepticons had withdrawn and become secretive; it was not even the longest. Twice before, the enemy had melted away.

The first time they had simply disappeared. Off Cybertron, out of the system, suddenly gone without warning.

The civilians had thought the battles over and had initially praised the Autobots but had quickly turned on them when Prime insisted on continuing to recruit and train soldiers and to manufacture weapons.

More than a century had passed and the _Ark_ had been built and Iacon's defences established, but the effort was deemed a waste of resources. Then the Decepticons had returned.

They had been training, building new warships, establishing faraway bases to supply their troops. Praxus and the Crystal City had fallen and, most horrifying of all, the conversions had begun.

If it had a proper name it was never recorded but the drone was mockingly called the 'Robo-smasher' by its handlers. Its job was simple: to reprogram already active mecha.

Most of the victims died. Centuries of research at Ordan Helix - research now in the hands of Megatron's scientists - showed that core programming was not easily adjusted, but since the Decepticons did not care about the high failure rate it worked well enough for their needs.

Thousands either perished or were converted before Robo-smasher was destroyed, and there were rumours for vorns afterwards that there were upgraded models still in use but used sparingly.

That was the first time. The second had been after a long stalemate at Ovacalix.

Until that point, the Decepticons had seemed unstoppable. Any target they selected would fall, it was only a matter of time. Their inability to secure Ovacalix grated at them and they attacked relentlessly for vorns before abruptly breaking off and withdrawing.

Unbeknownst to the Decepticons, things were getting desperate on the Autobot side by that stage. If the attack had continued for just a little longer, it may all have been over. But instead they were given a reprieve, a chance to replenish their supplies and re-fortify.

After another long gap, the enemy returned again with another heavy strike. Not at Ovacalix, but at Tertia, the new home of the High Council whose members had fled Cybertron in the wake of the violence. The few survivors of the new attack talked of interrogations and the fact that the Decepticons were looking for someone in particular; a scientist who had last been seen in Perihex. But details were sketchy and no names were given.

At the same time, Megatron claimed the ruins of Crystal City and converted them into a new stronghold he named Darkmount. His troops were even better armed than before, with new weapons, new ships, and new fervour.

Prowl turned off the datapad he had been reading and stared pensively at the starchart before him. What were the Decepticons up to this time? They had been quiet since Quickquadrant's death. They had not disappeared as before but they remained mostly hunkered in their bases, only retaliating if attacked or if any Autobots approached Cybertron and instigating nothing.

They could be building their troop numbers. They could be stockpiling supplies for a new push. Those theories he had already established. His current research suggested that perhaps as well as those purposes, they were also preparing for an attack on a significant target. But where?

Iacon and Ovacalix were both obvious targets, the former because it was Prime's base, the latter because of Megatron's previous failure to conquer it. But the pattern in the past had been to do something unexpected. What would be unexpected now?

A soft chime interrupted his thoughts and he reluctantly shut down and subspaced his datapads. He was due to observe his first class in two breems, the rest of this analysis would simply have to wait.

* * *

Sideswipe was bored.

The initial flurry of settling in and finding quarters and an office and having an impromptu tour had not been too bad. It had been fun watching Prowl snap orders at these civilians, and where those orders did not garner instant reaction Sideswipe was happy to find that letting his engine rumble and checking the settings on his rifle worked well. Not that Prowl often needed the help.

That had carried them through until late afternoon, and then Prowl had retired early. Four groons later, in the middle of the night cycle, he had been active again which meant Sideswipe also had to be up. They had retrieved a ration of energon each from the startled refectory cleaning staff and headed straight to Prowl's new temporary office where the mech immediately dove into work.

Sideswipe got as far as his third question about what this was all for before he had found himself relegated to guard duty outside the door. No-one to talk to, nothing to do, and he wasn't allowed to wander.

He wondered again why they were at the Kalisi academy. The tactician was deeply absorbed in searching through the historical archives, but what could be there that he could not access elsewhere? And even if there was something there, why bother insisting on observing the classes in progress?

Sideswipe scowled. Sunstreaker should have come on this venture: he at least had once attended the Vos academy, while Sideswipe had never been formally trained in anything.

Movement at the end of the corridor caught his attention but he relaxed as he saw it was only Sibilant. The lecturer looked no happier to be here than Sideswipe felt, which at least raised the warrior's spirits. At least he wasn't the only one confused.

"Morning." Sideswipe offered brightly.

Sibilant frowned at him.

"Do you have any idea how badly this is messing up my schedule? I have classes to teach, assignments to mark."

Sideswipe shrugged.

"Nope, not a clue. Bet you'll keep your mouth shut next time, though."

"What are you implying?"

Sideswipe shrugged again, not answering. He had his own theory as to why Prowl had selected Sibilant, but not only did it not make much sense he also doubted that Sibilant would like to hear it. Just why _did_ Prowl like to surround himself with troublemakers? Sibilant's grumbling; his own pranking; the troublesome, absent Jazz: none of them were exactly _normal_ company for a ranking officer.

The door opened behind him and Prowl stepped out, locking it behind himself.

"You're on time. Good. Lets begin."

Sibilant grimaced.

"Of course. I suppose you are unlikely to tell me what you're looking for in all these classes?"

Unsurprisingly, Prowl did not answer.

* * *

The sound of laserfire filled the air, shots fired and knocking their targets down efficiently. Prowl nodded approvingly to the class tutor, and the line of trainee snipers were signalled to disperse.

This class was the first militaristic one he had visited today. The rest had been what he would term 'Neutral' topics: Golden Age history, workdrone engineering, non-metallic geology, and Vosnian poetry.

The poetry class had been the worst. He could barely parse the lyrical phraseology and strange vocabulary, and none of the words he did understand seemed to have much to do with the class's discussion of what they heard. Sideswipe had whined that he was bored in that one and begged to leave early, but Prowl had stuck to his plan of spending exactly the same measure of time in each class.

This sharpshooter class had been the most practical and the least frustrating, but his time was up now. It was nearly sunset, and he had plans to take his evening ration back to his quarters and rest for a few groons before resuming his research. Sibilant was released until the next morning and had already left, but before Prowl could go the range tutor approached.

"Would you do us the honour of joining us for evening meal, sir?"

The question caught him by surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My senior students and I. Only if you have time, of course, but I've told them so much about you they're very curious."

Prowl examined him, trying to place why the mech's appearance was vaguely familiar. If this was one of his mentor's friends then he should never have met him before, so why did he feel as though he had?

"Have we met?"

"Yes sir, but it was awhile ago and we were never formally introduced." the warrior assured him. "My name's Cobalt. I was on Erion under your command."

Erion? That was the name given to moon near Perisymex where he had discovered the new semi-drone troops. Suddenly he did remember seeing this soldier there - a sniper having his leg removed. His gaze dropped down and he realised the soldier had a limp.

"Yeah, I lost my leg - they had to replace the whole thing because of the damage to the circuitry. Can't the metals out here like back home, but it'll do, and if I'm not really frontline material anymore I can still teach."

"Indeed." Prowl mused.

He had not had any intention of socialising with anyone here. But he did remember Cobalt, if not by designation, and it might be helpful to have another ally to turn to if Sibilant proved too obstreperous in the next few orns.

"I do believe I could spare you a groon. Lead the way."


	34. Part 7: Adjustments, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7, chapter 4 of 5

The rising sun on the third orn found Sideswipe once again outside the office where Prowl was doing his research, but this time he had company.

Prowl's unexpected agreement to dine with the snipers had been a real boon. It had given both of them the chance to hear something neither had expected: beyond the gossip circles aboard the _Escaphalion_ it seemed Prowl was already quite highly regarded.

The drop in fatalities since Quickquadrant's demise had been noticeable and to Prowl's consternation had been attributed to his promotion. The tactician had tried to point out that it was simply coincidence that the Decepticons had gone quiet for awhile, as they had done in the past, but then Cobalt had started telling a very interesting story about how Prowl had taken control of a dire situation where the enemy had numbered several times that of the Autobot force and had come away with only a few dozen casualties. After that, everyone concluded Prowl was merely downplaying his own importance.

They had all been shocked in turn to find out about the repeated attempts on Prowl's life aboard the flagship. Somehow that news had not made it through to them here, and there were several slightly drunken - since they were drinking high grade by that point - but entirely sincere offers to track down the perpetrators. Which was why Sideswipe was not alone out here. A few of them had taken it upon themselves to stand guard outside the office even when Prowl wasn't there. _Don't want to take chances if they're that determined,_ Infrascope had told him, then laughed, _besides, it's exciting - this place is always so boring._

Sideswipe was not entirely convinced that guard duty could be considered 'exciting' no matter how bored you were otherwise, but he was happy enough to have others to chat to while Prowl did whatever he was doing. As for what that was, he now had strong suspicions it was a recruiting drive of some sort. Otherwise why randomly choose to have dinner with a bunch of rookies? Primus knew they always needed more soldiers, and if this lot were as accurate in the field as they were on the target range they would be a great asset.

If that was Prowl's purpose here, then he was being very obscure about it. Why not just arrive and go straight to the military classes? Why waste all this time on other things? Sideswipe had decided he no longer cared. Leave the thinking to the higher ups, at least he was no longer bored: not when these mechs were so awful at gambling.

* * *

Prowl laid three separate datafiles out on the surface of the desk and frowned at them. Today he would visit the tactical class, spending no more time than with any other group, but unlike those other visits he would be looking very closely at the individual students. In preparation he had pulled the records of each and examined them, and after careful consideration these were the only three he was actually interested in observing.

The most promising of the group was a tall Iaconian named Trailbreaker. His solutions were well considered and he showed good ability to cope with changing variables. But there was a major gap in his plans that Prowl could not overlook: it was all defensive.

Not a single one of his solutions addressed the need for offensive action. In simulations he protected and stockpiled resources, and fortified locations or orchestrated careful retreats to a more readily defensible location, but he never attacked.

Put in a team with others he would leave all of the offensive planning to his colleagues and focus on his area of specialty. Given a solo task he would regularly fail the mission objective in favour of protecting his troops which sometimes resulted in even more carnage, but he stolidly refused to accept that there was any other viable option.

 _"In a real situation the attack would never have come from that quarter."_ he had claimed after one assessment.

Naive, Prowl sighed, setting aside Trailbreaker's assessment file and picking up his second choice.

Spangle was relatively new to the academy so there was less data on his style, but he was performing well. His plans were somewhat plain, preferring a direct approach even when the scenario included special ops agents or other specialists, but he adapted reasonably well to changing circumstances. If he could learn to vary his initial approach a little more he might be a realistic option.

Unlike the third Prowl had selected who quite simply had no coherent pattern to his responses.

Praxian, a former psychologist and compulsive gambler, Smokescreen called himself a 'diversionary' tactician, which as far as Prowl could tell meant that he intended to bluff his way through any situation as though it were simply a game. He did not so much plan as react. His plans prior to the start of a scenario were sketchy at best and non-existent at worst, and seemed to rely on him being personally involved in the action. The larger the number of mecha involved, the less reliable his performance.

It was ridiculous. If the skills of all three of them together were combined into one mech he might have something to work with, but as it stood he was at a loss how to handle this. Optimus would be thoroughly displeased if he returned with no-one at all.

Maybe he should approach this differently? Find someone with no training whatsoever and teach them? No, that was even worse. He had no time for that kind of commitment. So he was committed to choosing from the selection here.

With a sigh, he pulled up the data on the rest of the class for the fifth time. Perhaps he had missed something on the previous four perusals?

~Hey Prowl?~

~Yes, Sideswipe?~

~ Mech name of Diametric's asking to have dinner with you tonight. What do you want me to say?~

All other concerns melted away at the sound of that name. Diametric was one of the contacts he was supposed to meet once his mentor sent him off, but not here. He was supposed to be at Ovacalix: what was he doing here now?

~Prowl?~ Sideswipe prompted.

~I will meet with him privately.~ he responded finally. ~Tomorrow at dawn. In my office.~

~You sure?~

~You have your instructions.~

~Okay, I'll tell him.~

He stared blankly down at the data in front of him. It was meaningless. If things went wrong tomorrow, if Diametric threatened to expose him, if he had already told someone... everything could fall apart.

~Sideswipe?~

~Yeah?~

~No more interruptions until Sibilant arrives. ~

He had work to do and not enough time in which to do it. If the worst happened tomorrow, he needed at least to have a report ready for Optimus to help sort out what the Decepticons were up to, and someone in place to replace him.

No more delays.

* * *

Prowl seemed particularly on edge today, his doorwings twitching at every tiny noise and movement, and Sideswipe was convinced that it had something to do with Diametric.

Asking around he was able to find out a little about the mech, but none of it made any sense of the effect it was having on Prowl.

Diametric was only a visitor to Kalisi, arriving just over a vorn ago but having trouble getting transport back to Ovacalix because of the fighting. No-one was quite sure why he had come in the first place, but he seemed to be looking for someone. Or waiting for someone.

Why did Prowl want to see him privately? He had clearly recognised the name, but if he had expected to find him here then why did he not ask for him earlier? And why didn't Diametric turn up when they arrived? And why did Diametric suggest dinner if Prowl wanted a private meeting? Did Diametric not _know_ Prowl was looking for him? That made even less sense.

"You sure you don't want me to be there when you talk to this mech?" he asked for the fourth time.

"I am sure."

"But what if he attacks you?"

Prowl looked across at him, his expression giving away nothing.

"I hardly think that is likely. But if so, you will be just outside the door."

"I don't like it."

"Your feelings on the matter are hardly relevant. I need to meet with him, and you will wait outside."

Quite the brush off. Sideswipe scowled and started to turn away, but Prowl caught his arm.

"I do appreciate your concern. I will be fine. And if not, I will call."

"Well, just make sure you do."

It was not the solution he wanted, but it would do. It would have to.

If only he knew _why_ Diametric made Prowl so nervous.


	35. Part 7: Adjustments, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7, chapter 5 of 5

Sideswipe lingered by the door but Prowl gestured him out and he reluctantly closed it as Diametric settled into the chair.

"Thank you for finding time to see me. I do appreciate it."

"You're welcome. How can I help you?"

"Ah, direct. But of course, you are a busy mech. I won't disrupt you for long."

Prowl steeled himself.

He could almost hear the accusation before it was stated and wondered again how he was going to get out of this. Could he bluff his way through? Just how much did Diametric know? Most importantly, could he be sure he would still have Sideswipe's support once the truth was revealed? If not, this could go very badly indeed.

"This will seem like a peculiar question but given your specialty I wondered if you had come across anyone with... unusual talent for your field for his age."

"His age?" Prowl echoed blankly, his processors racing.

His? As in someone else's? Why not make the accusation directly?

Diametric sighed.

"An acquaintance contacted me some time ago about a sparkling he had begun training as a strategist. The youth was supposed to be sent to me at Ovacalix some vorns ago and I was to guide him here to complete his training but he never arrived."

Prowl had a sudden epiphany and nearly laughed aloud in surprise. Nearly.

"What was his name, this sparkling?" he asked, trying to sound casually interested.

"I was never told. He was to seek me out, you see."

The intense relief of the realisation that Diametric was not a threat left him feeling slightly dizzy. All those vorns of fearing the wrong word to the wrong mech would end his career, only to find that his mentor never actually described him well enough for anyone to recognise him. If Diametric did not know enough to identify him, then surely no-one could: the older mech was to escort him here and make the introductions.

"That does sound unusual." he agreed, fighting to keep his elation out of his tone. "What was your friend's name? Perhaps I have come across him."

It was the perfect opportunity to ask. Jazz had seemed so startled that he had not known his own mentor's designation that it had made him curious as well. Why _did_ he not recall his own mentor's name? Had he really never heard it?

"Well that is difficult to say." Diametric grimaced. "We weren't close, I only met him a few times. Clever fellow. Scientist, I think, although he never said which field he worked in. He was somewhat cagey about names. Told me I could call him 'Asher' but made no secret of the fact that it was not his true designation. Very strange mech. Still, he spoke so highly of his student's progress that I was quite looking forward to meeting him."

Disappointing not to have a real name, curious that he would hide it, pleasing to know his mentor had been happy with him. From what he could remember there had been very little direct praise.

"The name is not familiar to me." he admitted. "But I will watch out for a scientist with a trainee strategist. Now, was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

"Actually, yes. I was wondering if you could help me get back to Ovacalix: I've been stuck here for half a vorn waiting for transport."

"I'm sure we can organise something." Prowl smiled, relaxing back into his seat. "After all, we would not want you to be absent if this sparkling does turn up looking for you. Would you care to join me for breakfast? It seems I have a little more time in my schedule after all, and perhaps if you tell me more about this 'Asher' I might recognise him."

* * *

"So are you ever gonna tell me what all this was about?" Sideswipe asked quietly as they trailed behind Sibilant towards the next class.

Prowl glanced at him curiously.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"First off I thought we'd come to recruit. But you haven't even talked to any of the snipers since that dinner. Then I thought maybe it was about doing some research, but you're only spending the night in there, not working through the orn, and if it was official then you should be able to just do what you need to. And then that mech Diametric turns up and you're all nervous, but after you talk to him you've relaxed. Was he some kind of spy?"

"I very much doubt it." Prowl shook his head. "Diametric was seeking a missing sparkling; I have never met him before, and I imagine that once he transfers to a transport ship we are unlikely to meet again. If I am relieved, then it is because I have identified some viable candidates to work in the tactical office with me, which means we can now head back. The transporter is already on its way."

Sideswipe stopped.

"If you've made your decision, why are we still doing this?"

"I am also inspecting this facility." Prowl told him mildly. "It would be better used as a military base than this civilian space."

Sideswipe glanced around.

"That's not exactly going to be popular."

Prowl shook his head slightly.

"It would be a better use, but it is not what I will recommend at this stage. Our need for defensive spaces is not yet that great. But having seen it myself allows me to prepare."

Sideswipe folded his arms, frowning.

"Okay. So that explains the tour and Diametric. What about the research? You've been searching through those old files for orns like they had some big secret in them. What's up with that?"

"Are you two coming or not?" Sibilant called irritably, finally noticing that they had stopped.

Prowl walked on and Sideswipe hurried to catch up.

"So? What was in them?"

"Not what I had hoped." Prowl responded.

And that was the only answer he got.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Unexpectedly Tripwire had travelled with the transport shuttle, his arrival relieving Prowl of the tedium of a dry lecture on Altihexian social ranking. The purpose of such classes entirely eluded him: they would help no-one in fighting this war, and if the war was not won then no-one would survive to use the data.

He had not expected the second in command to come for him and wondered what crisis had occurred now. Whatever it was, he felt ready to handle it. The realisation that no-one was going to discover the secret of his age had lifted a weight of worry off him that he had not even known he was carrying.

Dismissing both Sibilant and Sideswipe, he headed in to the small conference room where the senior officer was waiting and found him admiring the view.

"I've always liked Kalisi." Tripwire commented. "It reminds me of Polyhex."

Prowl remained silent, having nothing to say to that, and after a moment the Security Directory sighed and turned to face him.

"Well, to business. I've put in the transfer papers for the three you've named. They'll be informed this evening and will travel back with us. But that is not why I am here. We have finally identified those responsible for the attacks on you."

Prowl waited for more but it seemed Tripwire was expecting some kind of reaction, so he obliged him.

"Excellent. Who was it?"

"There were eleven of them all up, but three ringleaders: one in comms, one working in the docking bay, and one in the security team. Specifically the unit leader for the squad assigned to guard the tactical office."

"Acetone." Prowl mused. "He was in charge of all the investigations."

"Precisely." Tripwire scowled. "No wonder we never got anywhere. In fact, it seems several of the suspects he identified may have been entirely innocent. We are looking in to that.

"In other news, Curveball's agents have finally located Megatron. He's been seen with Shockwave on a small moon out in the Tarind Sector. It seems they're building a new base out there."

"So far away?" Prowl frowned, calling up a starchart sketch in his processor and trying to determine some advantage from the move.

"Prime wants you investigating what purpose it has. Maybe put these new recruits of yours onto it. There must be some reason, we just can't see it yet. Even more worrying, he seems to have done a shake-up of his staff.

"We know that he has a new strategy team, headed by a mech named Powerplay. We know that the _Nemesis_ and six of the other heavy cruisers got caught in the wake of that solar flare in Xalain Sector and need repairs. We also know that Megatron has done this before: consolidating for vorns at a time before striking out with new weapons. And we do know he has a new weapon."

"What new weapon is that?" Prowl asked.

Tripwire shook his head.

"Hard to say. They're being unusually quiet about it, whatever it is. So far all we know is that something's going on; something more than we've seen."

Prowl found himself now staring at the view. A new weapon, new bases in distant locations, new strategists. What did it mean?

"We need to work harder." he declared quietly. "We need our manufactories to produce faster, we need to recruit more quickly and train more comprehensively. Whatever is coming, we must be ready for it."

"And if we're not?"

"We have no choice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 7.


	36. Part 8: Confidence in competence, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 8, chapter 1 of 5

Sideswipe rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. One more boring orn in an endless succession of boring orns in what felt like an equally endless succession of boring vorns.

The war... could this tedium still be called a war?... had been in this lull for decades. Over a century, in fact. The Decepticons had become entrenched at several strategically valuable sites, and apart from the odd skirmish there was little heard from them.

Oh sure, there was that nasty attack on the moon base above Gilsennin sixty vorns ago; but the super weapon had blown itself up, taking its creators and a whole battalion of Decepticon soldiers with it. And the storming of the energon mines at Kevri and Vroma Bes had been a sharp loss to the Autobot supply chain, but a few well placed charges on the part of the special ops forces had meant it was no gain on the Decepticon side either.

Then there was the disaster at Perihex to consider. The Decepticon scientists had convinced Megatron that the best way to flush out rebels hiding on the home world was through atmospheric manipulation. Quite what the result was supposed to have been was a mystery, but what it succeeded in doing was horrific.

The acid rain storms that the Decepticons had initiated at the start of the war had been made considerably more dangerous. Before, getting caught in the rain had meant scars and paint damage. Now just a few particles in your intakes could kill.

Almost all of the Autobots previously based on Cybertron had pulled out. A small contingent remained at the Iacon ship docks, well protected but also isolated: the work on the old _Ark_ had come to a complete halt. The only good thing was that the Decepticons were just as vulnerable as anyone else and were safe only in the well shielded base Darkmount, so Cybertron was now just another stalemate.

The Decepticons did not even seem to care. Their attention was elsewhere.

While they were rarely engaging with any Autobot forces, and usually only by accident, they were actively seeking out and raiding every Neutral enclave in the galaxy. They did not seem to be recruiting, just looking for supplies and slaves. The Autobots went to help where they could, but often they were too far away and did not have enough notice to do much more than arrive after it was all over.

In response, the Autobot fleet was somewhat scattered, but Prowl insisted on maintaining an active presence near any Autobot-held asset. They were very short on basic supplies and the few times his orders had been ignored by the local commanders their enemies had been quick to take advantage.

Sideswipe's lips twitched towards a smile as an idea for a fabulous prank began to form. He would have to be careful, of course. Keeping Topnotch from guessing what he was doing was one thing, avoiding Prowl's attention was something else.

Once Prowl had his three new assistants working hard he had resumed oversight of on-ship discipline. He pointed out that he had been far more efficient and effective than Topnotch even when he was overworked, and that was difficult to argue against. And the fact was, none of the other officers particularly wanted the job, not even Tripwire. The SIC was quite busy enough without having to worry about whether the culprits involved in the latest rash of pranks had been found and appropriately disciplined. Topnotch was still there, and still handled a lot of the drudgery, but the trick for any prankster aboard was to avoid Prowl.

Which, Sideswipe sighed, he had not managed to do yesterday. Hence his current incarceration. But this new plot, ah yes, now that had promise.

"Sideswipe!" the guard barked. "Time's up. Geddout."

About time. Now to find some accomplices, and he knew just where to look.

* * *

Prowl watched attentively as the visitors entered the conference room: three Neutrals, all nervous and defensive but taking the indicated seats without protest. Optimus waited until the door had closed, then nodded to them.

"Welcome. I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots and these are some of my senior staff: Ironhide, my Weapons Specialist; Tripwire, my Security Director and Second in Command; Prowl, my Chief Tactical Officer; and Curveball, my Third in Command. Welcome aboard the _Escaphalion_."

"We know who you and your staff are, Prime, there is no need to patronise us." the one furthest from Optimus snarled.

"Hush." the one next to him instructed. "It is polite to start with introductions and we are guests of the Prime. I am Steelrod. This is Gasket, and our less courteous friend is Oredigger. We represent a number of non-allied mecha you commonly refer to as Neutrals, but I should be clear that we cannot make decisions on their behalf."

"Then why are you even here?" Tripwire asked.

"Good question." Oredigger grunted. "This is a waste of time."

"We are here," Steelrod responded firmly, "to request protection."

"The Autobots attempted to protect civilians back on Cybertron." Curveball pointed out. "It was a disaster."

"Anyone can seek asylum from the Prime and have it granted." Gasket spoke up. "It's tradition dating right back to Prima."

"True." Optimus nodded. "However, my troops are already stretched thin. We don't have the capacity to protect large numbers of non-combatants as well."

"You _must_ protect us!" Gasket insisted.

"Why?" Ironhide questioned. "Why _must_ we? How many times've you Neutrals sold us out to save your own shells? How often have _we_ been turned away from shelter or supplies because it just might've drawn Decepticon attention? You're the ones who wanted us to surrender to Megatron - well where would we be now if we _had_?"

"Easy, Ironhide." Optimus interrupted, placing a staying hand on the mech's shoulder as he addressed the Neutrals. "You have come to make this request, but you must already know that the war is going poorly for us. Our ships and outposts are attacked twice for every Neutral base targeted."

"Yours are defended; ours are helpless."

"So now you want weapons from us?" Ironhide scoffed.

"I will never kill, and nor will many of my colleagues." Steelrod told him haughtily.

"No, you'll just hide in your holes and let _us_ die _for_ you, without lifting a finger! Prime, we don't have time for this nonsense!"

Ironhide subsided at a look from Optimus, and Tripwire shook his head disapprovingly.

"Ironhide's right. We can't waste troops as guards - we don't have enough as it is. The best thing you can do is keep running."

"Curveball?" Prime asked.

The Chief of Special Operations - who could not possibly have failed to notice how Optimus had introduced him without his title - shrugged casually.

"Far as I'm concerned, this is their problem not ours. We've got enough to worry about."

"Spoken like the sparkless killer you really are." Oredigger spat.

"At least I don't expect others to do the killing _for_ me." Curveball retorted.

"Prowl?" Prime interrupted, cutting off the argument before it could get worse.

Prowl considered for a moment, aware that his own thoughts had taken him in a different direction to the others. That was his job, and he did not have to agree with the other seniors - Primus knew he had disagreed with them often enough in the vorns since he had been promoted - but it was politic not to contradict them entirely in front of guests. Besides, although he had been CTO for well over a century now, there had been few situations quite like this one.

"Prowl?" Prime called to him again.

He folded his hands in his lap, processors racing to assess the risks of what he was considering.

"It is best, perhaps, to begin with the facts that we can be certain of. We know that the Decepticons are looking for carriers. They know that we are armed against them but that the Neutrals are not, thus the Neutrals are a more desirable target.

"We also know that the Neutrals - while referred to as such for convenience - are not in any way a cohesive group, nor can we be certain of the affiliations or motivations of the group as a whole since the dynamics are altered by each individual. This was what led to the problems experienced on Cybertron during early attempts to protect civilians.

"Finally, we also know that our entire army could not possibly be enough to defend all of the Neutral bases, and that to bring them together in a single place would simply provide a larger and more vulnerable target to the Decepticons."

"So get to the point. What are you suggesting?" Gasket asked.

"Compromise." he said simply.

"I knew it!" Oredigger began. "You Autobots'll take everything we have and _still_ want more..."

"Shut up." Curveball snapped, then glared at Prowl. "What kind of compromise?"

"We protect some of the Neutrals, but not all. Specifically, those at highest risk: breeders, sparklings and bond pairs. We bring them together in a single, defensible space and we keep the location secret. We assign as protectors only those Autobots who are either breeders themselves or who have lifemates who are at risk. That way we dramatically reduce the risk of betrayal.

"The rest of the Neutral bases will remain as they are. We will assist where we can, as we currently do, but our assistance will be prioritised along with all of our other needs. Knowing that the Decepticons cannot continue to run their factories from raids either on us or on Neutral bases will make it easier for us to plan and will likely reduce the frequency of those raids as there will be little gain for them.

"Having all of the breeders in one spot will create a tempting target, it is true, but it also makes it more defensible, particularly if we are careful in selecting the location, and the defenders will have every reason to remain vigilant as they will have a personal stake in the outcome.

"As the sparklings mature they will be given a choice to join the defenders, to join the Autobots, or to find a Neutral enclave to join. They cannot be permitted to remain indefinitely in place unless they are breeders themselves. We cannot cope with a constantly expanding population in this scenario any more than we managed on Cybertron."

He paused, well aware that he had everyone's full attention, then nodded to Optimus.

"It is a risk, but one with potential benefits to both sides. That would be my advice, sir."

Falling silent, he knew it would not be long before the questions started, and focused most of his energy on preparing answers where he could.

* * *

When the meeting finally ended, the Neutrals were guided directly back to their ship to return to their respective bases and spread the word on what had been proposed. Ironhide and Curveball also left, but Optimus motioned for the other two to stay.

"We need to start working on this quickly. Prowl, I want a draft of the full plan in three orns. Tripwire: who do you think we should include in this?"

"As few as possible. Even if we just keep it to those who were here, it would be risky."

"It can be done." Prowl assured him confidently.

Optimus smiled as he saw Tripwire frown at the CTO. Prowl seemed so rule-bound and conservative that it was often difficult to remember he was also the same mech who had come up with the piece of inspired genius - or perhaps madness - that had led to the _Ark_ being safely delivered to Iacon.

At the time Quickquadrant had queried whether Prowl had truly come up with such an outrageous plan on his own or if he had had some help from some as-yet unnamed source. Knowing now what he did about Quickquadrant Optimus now realised that the mech had feared Prowl's competence, but any fears of the same that he might have harboured himself were now silenced. Prowl had come up with this solution with no forewarning, and the resolution had been enough to quell the rising tension.

"So you say." Tripwire allowed, still frowning. "But I am unconvinced."

"I could give you more detail if you will permit me a few groons to..."

"I don't want to know." the explanation was dismissed as the security officer rose to leave.

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked.

"I don't want to be involved." Tripwire clarified. "Everyone will expect that I know: fine, we can use that. When I say things, or _don't_ say things, it'll get read as reliable information, so it'll provide a distraction."

Optimus nodded slowly, unhappy at the thought of his own SIC not being involved but understanding the reasoning.

"That makes sense."

"I still need some contact with the security team." Prowl frowned. "This will take a great deal of planning."

"I'll assign Red Alert to it." Tripwire told him. "He's already working with you on the new security protocols, it'll look like it's just a continuation of that."

"That is acceptable. But you will need to continue to meet with us, to give the appearance that you are still involved."

"True. But whatever you tell me at those meetings, I don't want the truth. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hopefully that'll help keep this from being known by half the universe within an orn of you making a plan."

* * *

"Must be nice." Cadmium commented to Sideswipe as they watched the two minibots being dragged out of the rec room and away by a security team led by a glowering Topnotch. "Seeing someone else in trouble for once, and not you."

"I'm not _always_ in trouble."

"Oh no?"

"Anyway," Sideswipe continued quickly, "you can't talk. You got caught in that prank on Tripwire just the other orn. Which was a master stroke, by the way."

"Would've been even better if we hadn't been caught. I hate it when Prowl gets involved. I swear, he's gotta be prescient or something. Maybe he was a priest before the war?"

"Maybe." Sideswipe shrugged. "But whatever it is, he's not gonna guess _this_ one. You want in?"

Cadmium laughed, leaning back in his chair.

"Depends. What've you got in mind?"

"Nothing much. Just a bit of shuffling of supplies. Come on, I'll show you..."


	37. Part 8: Confidence in competence, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 8, chapter 2 of 5

"...makes little difference, there is no discernible improvement in the situation." Prowl was saying to the security lieutenant as Optimus left the shuttle and walked over to where the two mechs had already set to work.

"The risks are simply unacceptable." Red Alert was scowling. "As soon as we know something, so do our enemies."

"I understand we're doing everything we can to keep these plans secret." Optimus tried to placate him.

"Yes, and it's still not enough." Prowl responded, his statement echoed by a firm nod and scowl from Red Alert. "They still find out and we still don't know how that is happening, so we cannot properly defend against it. Curveball's agents are working to find the leaks, but for now we need to assume that everything we say and do is seen and heard by the enemy."

"Which is why we're here?" Optimus asked, gesturing to the vast expanse around them.

The small moon was devoid of life and had a natural magnetic field that disrupted communications. From this position the three of them could see the _Escaphalion_ in geosynchronous orbit above them but could not contact the ship. They were being watched, but their words could not be recorded and no-one could sneak up on them.

"We are here to inspect a location for the new energon refinery that Ultra Epsilon is going to defend, which is currently our primary concern." Prowl corrected him. "However our presence here is also convenient for other purposes. I have developed a viable working plan for Luciana but it requires complete secrecy."

"Is this as audacious as your plans for the _Ark_ 's repairs?" Optimus asked wryly.

"Far more simple." Prowl assured him. "But just as delicate. The Decepticons simply cannot be permitted to intercept these civilians, it would provide them too much of an advantage, yet there is no way to prevent them learning the outline of what we are planning. Likely, they already know that much. It is in our interest to sustain that knowledge."

He paused, considering for a moment before continuing.

"We must gather the affected mecha in a single, defensible place as a staging ground. I recommend Ovacalix."

"If the Decepticons haven't heard this plan so far, they will soon." Optimus warned. "Ovacalix will become a major target."

"Ovacalix is already a major target, and the Decepticons will most certainly hear of this." Prowl agreed calmly. "There is no way to change that if we are to spread the message as widely as we need to. For that reason, the rendezvous point must be a populous area. To gather them in a secluded space will open them to attack far too early: at Ovacalix they can be temporarily defended.

"When it comes time to head out to the selected location, we will ensure there are far more ships leaving than required, and all heading in different directions. Each ship carrying the civilians will have a civilian pilot who will be the only ones other than us three to know their destination: we will tell them each individually, and personally, at the last possible moment.

"Each one will be given a different set of directions to one of a number of gathering points, and on arrival will be met by a guide who will take them from there. Someone who can be trusted, and who will act if they have been betrayed."

"And just who will these guides be?" Red Aert asked suspiciously.

"Someone you specify."

"Me?"

"Yes. We need to identify some mecha who are completely trustworthy."

"No-one is _completely_ trustworthy." the security mech disputed.

"So test them." Prowl approved. "Present them with false but tempting information and trace it. You have time: we won't be needing them for at least five vorns."

"So long?" Optimus interrupted, alarmed.

"It will take time to spread the word across all of the Neutrals. We need to allow for that or risk having to make multiple migrations to the safe locations: something which increases the likelihood of a double agent getting through. We also need time to identify a suitable location."

"You mean you don't have one already?" Red Alert blurted, clearly shocked.

Prowl blinked at him.

"Hardly. I was only presented with the problem to solve three orns ago. There has not been sufficient time for the depth of research required."

Optimus chuckled at Prowl's confusion.

"Your problem, Prowl, is that you've have been so detailed up to this point you make it very simple to forget you haven't been planning this for vorns already. You are too efficient."

"There is no such thing." Prowl protested, Red Alert chiming in, then the two of them stared at each other in surprise.

"So when will we have that information?" Optimus steered the discussion back on track, making a note to speak to Tripwire about having these two work together more often in the future.

"I cannot be sure. Perhaps as much as a vorn. It must be done subtly."

"Agreed." Red Alert nodded. "And until then we shouldn't discuss this at all. There won't be anything to overhear if we're not saying anything. Now lets get on with this inspection before make them suspicious."

"Them?" Optimus asked.

"Whoever's watching us. Trust me, _someone_ is. Someone _always_ is."

* * *

Hoist hated to bother any of the senior officers, but right now he had no choice.

He had gone first to Safestore, but the mech wanted nothing to do with it. He should probably go to Ratchet, since that was who Safestore reported to, but the medic was just as likely to blame him for the oversight. There was no way he was going to go to the SIC or TIC, and Broadcast was off-ship more often than on, so that just left Prowl.

It was probably for the best, anyway. After all, it was most likely some kind of prank and Prowl had been in charge of discipline for vorns. Still, the whole thing left him feeling incompetent, and he hated that.

"We're... uh... ahem. The manifests were wrong. Crates of coolant got coded as energon. We're down to about four orns of rations left on board, total."

Prowl had been busily typing away since he arrived, not even looking up, but now he stopped and gave Hoist his full attention: something the maintenance worker could have done without.

"There are no supply depots within four orns of our current position."

"I know." Hoist said wretchedly.

"Have you double-checked the inventory? Where one mistake can occur, another may have."

"I've checked. Three times. And Safestore checked too."

"Safestore knows about this? Then why did he not bring it to Ratchet?"

"He says I found it so I've got to deal with it." Hoist admitted, then added hurriedly, "And he says it's probably part of the pranking and someone's probably got the energon hidden away somewhere so if we can just find it there won't be any problems."

"We cannot rely on that." Prowl frowned, rising and bringing up a chart of their current location. "Our closest port is Kalisi Station, and that is nine orns away by the most direct route."

"We can stretch it out a bit." Hoist offered. "If we dilute the energon we've probably got about twelve orns. Longer if we restrict consumption."

"Dilute it immediately." Prowl nodded. "Then work out what we need and come back to me. I'll look into the rest."

"Yes sir."

He left quickly, feeling a deep sense of relief.

Based on rumour and Prowl's humourless demeanour he had half expected to be thrown straight in the brig for such an oversight. Perhaps the mech was not so bad after all.

* * *

Curveball barrelled into the room and tossed a datapad onto the desk.

"Here. Take a look at these."

Prowl glanced at the file, then shook his head.

"We are appropriately staffed."

"Nah, you're looking for someone. Several someones. With the right skills."

"What sort of skills?"

"Loyal. Get the job done."

"These are some of yours?" he asked, surprised.

"No. We watch them a bit, but they don't work for me. They are what you need, though. I promise you that."

"I'm not looking for anyone." Prowl shook his head, returning to the analysis he was working on.

"Not what I hear."

"Well I would not presume to question what you may have heard, I'm quite certain you hear all manner of things both truthful and less than entirely so, but you are incorrect as to your interpretation of it in this case."

Curveball snorted.

"How in the pit does Jazz put up with you, eh? Do you talk like that in the berth too?"

Prowl flinched.

"Jazz was my roommate, but beyond that..."

"I wouldn't worry." Curveball interrupted him. "This office is totally surveillance-free. Always was on the _Ark_ , and I had one of my lot sweep this one clean when we shifted to here. That's half the reason it took us so long to catch poor old Quad."

"All the more reason to reinstate the surveillance, then."

"Yeah, you'd think that." Curveball shrugged. "That logic's what makes you good at what you do. But me? Well I've got me the best strategist on either side of this infernal war, and it seems to me he needs some space to work without others interfering. And trust me: whatever gets recorded gets seen by more than just the security force. Now, about these mechs you need..."

"Where did you hear this?"

"Does that matter?"

"Actually, yes."

"Well too bad, I don't reveal sources. But I heard you needed some frontliners who couldn't be bribed. I told them everyone could be bribed with the right incentives, but they insisted that that's what you wanted. So there it is. Do what you want with it."

Prowl pursed his lips.

"If I act on this at any time in the future you will take that as confirmation that you were right, regardless of what I say."

"You're welcome." Curveball just laughed and walked out.

Irritated, Prowl put the pad in a pile to review later and went on with his work.


	38. Part 8: Confidence in competence, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 8, chapter 3 of 5

Optimus winced behind his battlemask as he was led through to an excessively noisy room. The roar of the fully-powered engine was enough to make his audials ache even though he had dialled down their sensitivity as far as he could.

Prowl had requested that he join him on this inspection, though the CTO had cleverly diverted him every time Optimus had tried to ask for an explanation.

They had started up in the crew areas and had now gone the length of the ship. Several times they had come across unlawful activity, and Prowl had told off a couple of security guards to see to the matter as they carried on, but he did not seem to have found what he was looking for.

Was this about the missing energon that Prowl had reported in on, Optimus wondered again. The CTO had explained about the fuel crisis but did not want it to be general knowledge until they were safely docked, if at all. It seemed likely that it was a prank and the missing energon was merely hidden, but surely no-one would be foolish enough to store it here near the engines? The vibrations would destabilise it within groons.

Relieved as they passed through into a shielded chamber between the two engines, he was mildly surprised as Prowl stopped him.

"We must not delay for long or it may arouse suspicion, but I needed to speak with you privately."

"About...?"

Prowl folded his arms, frowning.

"Curveball knows what was discussed between you, Red Alert and I." he said, referring obliquely to Luciana without naming it. "He will not reveal his source, but clearly we have a serious security issue."

Optimus grimaced, but this time not from the noise.

"Are you certain he knows?"

"Indeed. He supplied me with some names of mechs to contact to consider as our guides."

"But did he say that that was what they were needed for?"

Prowl's frown turned vaguly quizzical and then morphed into surprise.

" _You_ told him."

"I gave him some basic details, yes, but nothing to describe what is planned."

"Why?" Prowl shook his head. "You know how important this is, for this to remain secret. It makes no logical sense."

"You've been looking for appropriate support with no success. If anyone can find someone suitable, it's Curveball."

"How often have you done this?" Prowl scowled and Optimus had the distinctly uncomfortable sensation he was about to be scolded. "How many of the problems we've had been attributable to you sharing information inappropriately?"

Optimus now frowned himself.

"I would never endanger anyone and I resent the implication otherwise."

"You endanger a large contingent of Autobots and Neutrals by sharing any of this information." Prowl fumed back.

"Are you suggesting that Curveball, my Third in Command, cannot be trusted?"

"I am suggesting that everyone would have been safer if that question had not needed answering in the first place. What you have done is reckless."

"Reckless?" Optimus echoed incredulously.

"Yes indeed." Prowl said flatly. "Dangerously so. If Red Alert had acted so recklessly, I would have had him dismissed."

"Well you can hardly do the same with me." Optimus pointed out.

Prowl's glare seemed to indicate that he was strongly considering making the attempt, but he grudgingly gave a slow nod.

"What is done is done. But you must tell me _precisely_ what information you passed on to Curveball. I cannot plan effectively if I do not know all the variables. And you will not share any further information with anyone without prior discussion. Is that understood?"

"I understand." Optimus drawled. "Do _you_ understand that you're still my subordinate, not my superior?"

Prowl looked mildly offended.

"I would never presume to be anything else. But I _will_ do my job effectively, and for that I need to have your cooperation. Sir."

And with a short formal bow, he opened the door to the next engine chamber, and the discussion was over.

* * *

Hoist sensed rather than saw someone approach and turned to find the CTO watching the stacking of the new supplies.

"I take it someone has confirmed that this time we have the correct materials?" Prowl asked.

Hoist nodded.

"Yes sir. And no-one even seems to have noticed there was a problem, either."

"We were fortunate that there was no combat. Diluted energon would have put us at a disadvantage."

"We could have added some barium nitrate if that happened."

"Mixing energon in space is dangerous."

"It's okay if you have the right equipment." he muttered and immediately regretted it.

Stupid thing to say. Energon mixing in space was specifically prohibited in the regulations, and it was not about safety: everyone knew that a still could be just as easily used to make high grade, that was why they were not permitted aboard ship. He expected the censure but instead Prowl looked across at him, then nodded.

"Obtain suitable equipment while we are here. I do not want us to be in this situation again."

Hoist fought to keep the grin off his face. It was true that it was needed for survival purposes. But it would be nice to have some high grade again, too.

"I will personally inspect it frequently and irregularly." Prowl continued blandly, dashing Hoist's hopes. "After all, we cannot allow it to be used inappropriately."

"No, sir. Of course not." Hoist sighed.

The officer strode off and Hoist began to trudge over to the Station quartermaster, then paused as an alert came up on his HUD. A ship was coming in to dock? But who? There had been no announcement of new crew.

"Hey Fineline! Who're the new arrivals?"

The quartermaster grunted.

"Wreckers. You're welcome to'em."

"The Wreckers? But we're not scheduled for any big missions."

"That you or I know about." Fineline shrugged. "But then why would they tell _us_ , eh?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Tell you what, though. You're gonna need a whole lot more energon than this with that lot on board. So. What've you got for trade?"

* * *

Prowl motioned for the security team to pause in the hallway, settled himself, then stepped into the room and set his vocaliser to what he felt was an appropriate volume for the situation.

" _What is going on in here?_ " he bellowed.

Predictably, everyone stopped to look at him, and he stalked through the group to the ones in the centre. One of them was on the floor with two others looming over him. A third was on the edge of the group, surreptitiously subspacing a Decepticon laser blade.

Prowl's mood soured further, seeing that. This may have been a very serious mistake. Signalling the security squad captain, he indicated the three.

"Take these ones to the brig."

The room erupted into protest and he raised his voice again.

"And include anyone who obstructs you in carrying out that order. Understood?"

"Yes sir, but..."

"You have your orders."

Turning away, he moved out and contacted the medical team. None of the injuries had looked particularly serious but that was not his judgement to make.

Heading back to his office, he began composing his initial report. He would give the brawlers a groon in the brig to calm down while he was in his next meeting, then interview them. Most likely it was only a trival matter gotten out of hand, but he would not have that kind of behaviour continuing, and this would be a good object lesson.

"Hey!" someone called out angrily from behind him. "Hey you! Stop!"

As he was the only other mech present it seemed likely that he was the one being addressed. Obliging the rude speaker, he turned to see a bulky green mech stomping towards him.

"Is there something you need?" he asked politely.

"Yeah. Who the frag do you think you are, locking up _my_ team?"

"Your team? Then you must be Springer."

"Slagging right I am. Well?"

"Your team were causing a disturbance."

"Disturbance my aft. They were having a bit of fun, that's all."

"Someone could have been hurt."

"We're at war, you idiot. Of _course_ mechs'll get hurt! But they're warriors not strutless admin workers who don't even know which end of a rifle to fire with: they can take it."

This conversation was going nowhere. He had hoped that the first time he spoke to Springer it would be on better terms than this, but he was not going to stand around to be insulted and treated like a Neutral pacifist by a squad leader who had plenty of black marks on his record.

"Where are you going?" Springer demanded, following as he turned away.

"I have work to do."

"And my crew?"

"Will be released in due time."

"But no-one was hurt!"

"Someone could have been."

"They were only whaling on each other - your crew wasn't even involved!"

"It makes no difference. They are on my ship, and under our rules."

Springer growled and stopped following.

"I'm not going to forget this." he warned.

Prowl walked on, ungoaded. It was a silly statement and he knew better than to respond to it. Besides, he really did have work to do and it was not getting done while he wasted time on these newcomers.

* * *

Sideswipe wiped a trickle of energon from the cut on his cheek, flicking the fluid onto the floor casually and grinning gleefully at his brother.

"Go again?"

Their opponents laughed.

"Bring it on!" Whirl agreed eagerly.

"But not right now." they were interrupted by a newcomer.

"Aw, Spin..." Sandstorm complained.

"No, Sandy. You heard Springer's call - he wants us on back on the _Xantium_ right now."

"Later, then?" Sideswipe offered.

"Sure thing." Whirl nodded.

"Told you they were fun." Sunstreaker told him as the three Wreckers headed out of the training room.

"Yeah, if you're a psychopath." Sideswipe retorted, then grinned widely. "Good thing we both are, eh? That was _fun_. Where'd you meet them again?"

"Sandstorm, Whirl and Roadbuster were stationed at Praxus with me for awhile. Kept me sane."

"As sane as you get, anyway." Sideswipe teased, leading the way out. "Wanna hit the racks?"

"I thought you had admin duty?"

"Nah, Prowl gave me some time off. He's too busy right now to find work for me and says I deserve a break. Says I don't spend enough time with _you_ after I spent all that time looking for you."

Sunstreaker grunted.

"That mech is crazier than you are. Sometimes he's as hard as galvanised duratonium, and then he comes out with sappy stuff like that. He's weird."

"I like him." Sideswipe shrugged. "You would too, if you ever took the time to talk to him."

"No thanks. I've got enough craziness in my life with you around. Besides, he'd only end up wanting to borrow my polishes."

"Say what?" Sideswipe asked, nonplussed.

"Well he's vain enough. Come on, you _must've_ noticed his finish.

"Well obviously _you_ have."

"It's hard enough to keep up with basic detailing out here." Sunstreaker continued, not listening. "I'm not wasting any of my supplies on someone else."

"Sunny, I don't think he'd want..." Sideswipe began slowly, then something clicked. "Wait a click... You're _jealous_!"

"I'm not."

"Ooh, you are, you so _are_! Why didn't I see it?"

"I have nothing to be jealous of. He's just a common Praxian."

"Not so common since Praxus fell. I can't believe this! Wait til I tell him."

"What? No! Sides!"

Sideswipe laughed and began to run. Sometimes, even in the middle of a war, life was good.

* * *

Prowl hurried down the corridor, acutely aware that he was late.

He would have been perfectly well prepared and on time had it not been for the incident with the Wreckers, but they had proven very troublesome. One of them had assaulted five - _five!_ \- of the security bots instructed to escort them to the brig before his companions had stopped him. Tripwire wanted an immediate security threat report filed; the medics wanted an explanation for the sudden flood of casualties; Ironhide wanted them stripped of all their weapons and tossed off the ship.

If only there was someone suitable to delegate some of this to.

Red Alert would happily take it, but things would quickly get out of hand with that mech's paranoia. Ironhide turned a blind optic far too often unless something upset him personally and then he was far from impartial. Topnotch had seemed like a good option until he had been caught leaking sensitive information back to Cybertron - nothing serious enough to have him removed quite yet, but he had to be watched. No. Right now there was no-one available. He would just have to continue to manage it himself.

"Hey Prowl! Guess what?"

"Sideswipe I don't have time..." he began, then stopped in shock as he saw the dents and streaks of energon on the toughline's frame. "What happened to you?"

"What? Oh, this is nothing. Just playing a bit with these Wreckers. Anyway..."

The Wreckers again. Again! Primus, they had only been on board for a joor.

Prowl cut Sideswipe off, irritated.

"Go to the medics and get that seen to. Now. I will speak with you later."

"But this is just..."

"Go."

Striding onwards, he swept into the conference room and took his place.

"Apologies for my tardiness."

"You!" Springer exclaimed.

"Prowl, Springer tells me you have detained several of his team in the brig."

"For brawling, Prime." Prowl nodded. "Their behaviour was inappropriate and endangered both themselves and others around them. I would be happy to present you with my report following this briefing."

"Do so. Lets begin."

"That's it? Prime, this is ridiculous! I can't do anything with my crew locked up..."

"We will get to the bottom of that in due course." Prime assured him. "Prowl, begin your presentation."

* * *

Springer stomped into the brig, unamused by the clamour his crewmates raised on seeing him. They would be getting a very clear view of his current mood very shortly. Thrusting the datapad towards the mech on guard duty, he crossed his arms and waited for them to be released.

He was still not sure which was worse: the fact that his crew had been on board for less than a joor before getting thrown in the brig - a new record, even for them - or that he had just sat through a long and tedious briefing that had gone nowhere. His crew were on parole, ordered to remain on the _Escaphalion_ until they received their next mission and there was no sign of that happening anytime soon.

The briefing had been full of details that had nothing to do with him or the Wreckers, and had touched on some sensitive matters. Was this their way of making up for the long vorns of keeping the Wreckers in the dark about the broader battle strategy? No. More likely there was something else going on.

Well if they thought they were going to be able to separate him from the Wreckers, they had another think coming. There had been talk in the past of him starting another unit, handing the Wreckers on to a Commander who could teach them some discipline. So far it had not happened, and he was not going to see it happen now.

They could keep their politics. He just wanted his mission and to get away from here.


	39. Part 8: Confidence in competence, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 8, chapter 4 of 5

Sideswipe was just passing the rec room when he spotted a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables. Changing direction, he headed in and snuck up behind the other mech, hoping to startle him when he spoke directly behind him.

"Whew, you're a hard mech to track down sometimes, you know that?"

Typically, Prowl did not flinch.

"I have been in my office for the past two shifts. Finding me should have been very straightforward."

"Yeah, well, that's official and stuff."

Prowl looked up at him in askance and Sideswipe grinned down at him sunnily.

"Anyway... what's up with the Wreckers, eh? What's the mission? We're going to have a big one, right? Right? They've been aboard for orns now, there's gotta be _something_ you can tell me."

"I can tell you that they are spending more time in the brig than anywhere else. Besides that, they are Autobots just as you and I are. They go where they are ordered."

"Yeah but _why_?" Sideswipe persisted, moving around to sit at the table. "Why bring them here? Why _now_?"

"That is none of your concern."

"I hear Ratchet's locked Top Spin in the repair bay to school him up since he found out he was just a tech and not a full medic."

Prowl made no acknowledgement of that, so Sideswipe tried another tack.

"And Springer and Roadbuster have already broken three terminals and Safestore says he won't give them any more parts so they'd better finish their paperwork soon or they'll have to make the reports verbally."

"There is no need for them to be violent." Prowl pointed out.

Sideswipe snorted.

"Sure there isn't. They're _Wreckers_ , Prowl. They didn't get that name by being all gentle and looking after their stuff. Or anyone else's."

"They are aboard the Autobot flagship and are subject to the same rules as anyone else. Including yourself."

"Yeah, well tell them that."

"Have you and your brother ever considered joining them?"

"Us? Nah, not really. They'd have us - they've said as much, actually - but they're a bit messy for Sunny. Besides, no medtech'd ever keep up with us. We need to be where the expert is, right?"

Prowl frowned at that, then rose.

"I am somewhat relieved at your decision to stay, though perhaps not so much at your cavalier attitude."

"Aw we'll be fine."

"Mm. In any case, I need to charge and I do believe you are late for your gambling session."

"Oh yeah... hey! What? Uh..."

Prowl shook his head, turning away.

"I'm not on duty. Just don't bet anything you can't afford to lose. Oh and Sideswipe?"

"Yeah?"

"When I find any proof that you were involved in the recent disappearance and subsequent reappearance of the majority of our energon stores, and I do believe that I _will_ find proof given sufficient time, you may find you wish to seriously reconsider that offer from the Wreckers."

* * *

Prowl handed over the approved security shift reports, then noticed what Red Alert had on his main screen: a view of the Wreckers gambling in one of the storage holds. That activity alone was making the security officer twitch, but it did not bother Prowl: at the moment they were not endangering anyone else. Unusually, he and Red Alert were the only two in the monitoring room, the security mech's supervisor currently out at a meeting, and Prowl decided to take advantage of that serendipity.

"So?" he asked obliquely, gesturing towards the screen.

The question netted him a glare.

"They're a menace! They trip all of the security nets just for the fun of it! They..."

"But have they leaked any of the data we gave them?" he interrupted the tirade before it could get properly started.

Red Alert looked at him sulkily.

"Well?" Prowl prompted after a moment of silence.

"No, they haven't but they're still not what we're looking for."

"And what is it, precisely, that you believe we are seeking? Good conduct may be desirable, but it is not one of our critical success criteria."

" _They don't follow orders_."

"They don't follow your orders, nor do they follow mine." Prowl agreed. "But they are loyal to Springer."

"Don't get me started on _him_. Did you see what he did in the...?"

Prowl raised a staying hand.

"He has a temper, yes. And he is unorthodox. But have you caught him actually breaking any of the regulations personally?"

"Not yet." Red Alert said darkly.

"What we need is some method of control." Prowl mused, looking at the screen.

"Blackmail?"

He blinked at the security mech in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

Red Alert smirked.

"All kinds of things get caught on camera. Compromising footage..."

"We're trying to control his behaviour, not worsen it." Prowl interrupted quickly, not wanting any further elaboration. "Blackmail may well result in him being even less amenable to direction than he is currently. Still... we do have his ship and he is very fond of it. If there was some way to retain it..."

"And have them trapped here?" Red Alert stuttered, aghast.

Prowl waved a hand, turning for the door.

"I need to think this through. But in the meantime, I think we can agree that they are suitable for our purposes?"

"Unless I find someone better." Red Alert conceded grudgingly.

"I shall leave that to you. But when the time comes we must be prepared, and the guides _must_ be trustworthy."

* * *

Spotting Prowl alone in his office, Optimus slipped inside and closed the door.

"A moment of your time?"

"Of course, sir. How can I assist?"

"Prowl, why are the Wreckers here?"

"They may be of use in our upcoming plans."

"So you have repeatedly said, but you haven't yet given me a plan that would use their skills."

"I'm still working on it."

"So why are they here now?"

"Is there a problem with them being here?"

"Well given that you've spent most of their visit locking them up..."

"Only when their behaviour warranted it." Prowl pointed out.

That tack was going nowhere, so Optimus decided to be blunt.

"Springer is getting tired of this. You need to either give them the mission you wanted them for, or release them."

"Prime the Wreckers are Autobots, not Neutrals. They must go where ordered."

"Exactly his point, I believe..."

"So there should be no issue if they are required to remain in place for a short while." Prowl continued smoothly. "A break, if you prefer. I know Ratchet is taking the opportunity to upskill their medic, and Springer and Roadbuster are filling in the mission logs that have somehow failed to be completed and sent to us."

Optimus frowned at his CTO.

The mech was up to something, that much was certain, but he had no idea what it was. The only reason he could fathom for Prowl calling the Wreckers here was to involve them in the shift of carriers from Ovacalix to Luciana, but that was not due to happen for almost three more vorns. And besides, he was hardly likely to give anyone such an important duty when he had spent so many orns punishing them for rule infractions. So why were they here?

"I expect they will be leaving us within the next few orns in any case." Prowl commented serenely. "Once I have completed my analyses I will either have work for them or they can return to Yemalax III to carry on with their previous assignment there. Now was there anything else, sir?"

Feeling no more enlightened than before, Optimus shook his head then turned away. A few orns. Hopefully those orns would be less eventful than the ones thus far.

* * *

Sandstorm watched the mech sitting at the other table: he had been there for two full groons now, just watching them play.

When Prowl arrived they had all been certain he intended to break up their game, but he simply retrieved a ration of energon and sat at a nearby table, and watched. He said nothing as the games progressed, nodding politely to those who spoke to him but clearly not interested in company.

As time passed without consequence, Sandstorm began to get an idea. Prowl must be off duty at the moment, and since their game was only amongst themselves and not violent there was no reason to call for security. But what if they could get _him_ arrested? What if they could get him drunk, and gambling, and then call security themselves?

The next time the officer finished a cube, Sandstorm called out before he could go back to the dispenser, and offered him some of their high grade. The others thought he was crazy, but Prowl paused and then accepted it as well as a seat at their table. Scoop caught on to the hustle quickly and between them they kept the mech well supplied.

When he had had several cubes - Sandstorm had lost count, not being entirely sober himself - he rose to leave.

"Stay." Scoop suggested. "Come on, it's the first time we've been getting on since we got here. Stay for a bit."

"Well, perhaps for a little longer." Prowl conceded, sinking back into his chair.

"Great. Hey, Whirl, deal him in this round, okay?"

"I never said I was going to gamble." Prowl frowned faintly as counters were placed in front of him.

"Never said you weren't, though." Sandstorm was quick to point out. "And hey, it's just a friendly game. It'll be fun."

"Playing for rations is against regulations."

"Fine, we'll bet something else then. How about...?"

"How about codes?" Prowl put in.

The others looked at him blankly.

"Codes?" Sandstorm echoed finally, feeling the faint stirrings of alarm.

Had that suggestion come a little too quickly to be spontaneous?

"Yes." Prowl nodded. "If I lose, I'll give you the code to the storeroom that holds all of the confiscated contraband; if you lose, you give me the current access code to the _Xantium_ so I can search it for contraband."

He relaxed. It made sense, and even if they lost it wasn't that serious.

"You're on."

* * *

In spite of his weariness, Prowl had to work hard not to laugh out loud at Springer's incredulous expression.

"Nothing at _all_?"

"The plans for which your immediate assistance was required have now proven less viable than I had hoped and have been shelved." he explained. "It is a shame that this detour has disrupted your work on Yemalax III but it is also good that your team have had a chance for a proper rest period and that..."

"This was a complete waste of time!" Springer bellowed.

The increase in volume was definitely unappreciated at the moment, but he held to the act.

"It does seem to have developed that way."

"Right. We're off then."

"That is your choice, though I would advise you not to be hasty. I have some information which you might like to consider before..."

Springer spat a curse at him and was gone.

Prowl sat back in his chair, letting his doorwings slump as the door closed. His body was still protesting the consumption of an unwise volume of high grade. Best that Springer not see that.

He felt the fuel in his tank stir warningly and wondered if he should request a neutralising agent from the repair bay. It would come with a lecture on the stupidity of overindulgence, but that may be more bearable than this recurrent nausea.

He had done what he could to protect himself: half-filling his tank with coolant prior to arriving in the common room to stop his systems processing anything, then purging his entire tank as soon as he could get out of sight.

The residue had still left its mark.

Most of all he wanted to just curl up on his berth and wait for the symptoms to subside. But there was still one more part to play in this game and Springer must not suspect anything.


	40. Part 8: Confidence in competence, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 8, chapter 5 of 5

Springer entered the hold and was immediately suspicious when he found his entire crew arrayed around the _Xantium_ and looking dejected.

"Okay, what's going on here?" he demanded.

They looked at each other uneasily, and Roadbuster folded his arms.

"Don't look at me - I'm not telling him. I wasn't even there."

"Same here." Top Spin chipped in hurriedly. "I was in the repair bay the whole time."

"The whole time for what?" Springer intoned. "Well? Hurry up."

The others shuffled about nervously, then Whirl mumbled a response.

"We were gambling and lost."

"Lost what?"

No-one answered and Springer huffed. He had no time for this.

"Alright, we'll deal with this later - come on, we're out of here, this was all a waste of time."

Oddly, none of them moved to follow as he walked up to the hatch and entered his access code... and had it rejected. Frowning, he re-entered it. Same result. The override did not work either.

With a sinking feeling, he turned back to the others.

"What _exactly_ is going on here?"

"They bet the access codes and lost." Roadbuster told him. "To Prowl."

"To _who_?"

"He said he was just going to search for contraband!" Twintwist complained. "And he did, but there was so much he couldn't carry it all, so he changed the access codes and said it'd have to stay there til he had time to come back for it."

"Prowl doesn't gamble, though." Springer protested.

"He did last night." Scoop grumbled.

"And you _lost_?"

"He had to be cheating." Broadside declared. "It's the only way."

There was a thoughtful pause.

"I dunno." Sandstorm said uncomfortably. "I didn't see him cheating."

"You were drunk."

"So were you."

"He's the slagging CTO - we can't just accuse him of cheating!"

"He only played the one round. It could've just been luck."

"Ha!"

"What did _he_ bet?" Springer interrupted. "If he bet the _Escaphalion_ 's codes he must've been cheating - he wouldn't've risked that."

The others looked guilty again.

"Um, no." Whirl confessed. "Actually, he just offered to let us get into the contraband here."

"That's all? And for that, you just gave him the codes?"

"We didn't think he'd _win_." Broadside protested.

"Sounds to me like you didn't think at all!" Springer said disgustedly. "Alright. So when's he coming back?"

"He didn't say." Roadbuster reported.

"Well that's no good. I'm sick of being treated like rookies, I want out of here and I want to go _now_."

* * *

Optimus closed and locked the most recent report from the Plutes sector. It was no more informative than the last three to arrive, and just like those others the message was clear: we are not ready, we don't intend to be ready, pick somewhere else.

Rising from his desk, he paced over to a view port and stared out at the stars.

The Plutes sector was one of the most distant from Cybertron ever to be explored by their race. The solitary base there, unimaginatively named Plutes-1, had barely been established when war had broken out on Cybertron. Many of the nearby solar systems and spatial areas remained uncharted, and no-one had the time or energy to change that.

Which was one of the main reasons why Prowl had selected it as his destination.

The Plutes sector was poorly explored, thus was the perfect location for Luciana. Once the base was settled, no-one would know precisely where it was; there was Plutes-1 already set up as a defensive base to protect them; and if anyone - Decepticon or Neutral - headed in that direction they could be easily intercepted before they got close. It was the obvious choice for their purpose of finding a new home for all of these carriers and bondpairs, and the obvious progression from this point was for Prowl himself to go and oversee the preparations personally. That way the secrets could remain tightly held.

And only he, and Optimus and Red Alert would know that it was all a ruse, and while everyone was watching the Plutes sector, the new settlers of Luciana would be quietly smuggled away to the real location and be gone before anyone knew what was going on.

"You wanted me?" Curveball asked from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes. Prowl will be leaving tomorrow. I want him to be safe."

"Safe from what? The Cons are gonna know within half a groon of him leaving - they're watching so close they probably know already. Or are you still worrying about that idiot, Nolan?"

"He has made it clear he does not want any part of this venture."

"So what? It isn't for him to call it. I wouldn't worry, anyway. He blusters, but Prowl'll see straight through it - just look how he handles mechs here."

"Nevertheless, I want two of your operatives assigned to him during this excursion. What about that specialist of yours, Meister? Is he back yet?"

Curveball shook his head.

"Meister's unavailable. And with all the crazy orders you've been giving about what you want done, I don't even have Mirage and Hound on board right now. Anyway, we've all been in the meetings: Prowl's insisted all the way through that he doesn't want to draw attention by taking a squad with him. And there is a whole battalion there at Plutes-1, even if they haven't got much combat experience."

"I know his arguments very well, but a couple of bodyguards will not draw the same attention as a large number of troops."

"Why not send those twins who're always hanging around him? If anyone can keep him safe, it's them. Anyway, we'll all be pretty close behind so he won't be alone for long."

Optimus nodded, turning back to the view. It was an acceptable solution, if still not a perfect one. If only Curveball knew the truth, that this was just a bluff, but he had accepted his lesson: if this was going to work, then he had to trust Prowl to do what was needed and not jeopardise everything by changing the variables.

* * *

Blaster's distinctive voice across the comm made him stir from his stupor.

~Hey Prowl? Springer's looking for you.~

Prowl pressed his helm against the rim of the bucket, trying to raise the energy to move.

~Tell him I'll meet him in my office shortly.~

There was a pause.

~He says he'll come to you. Mech's mighty agitated about something, that's for sure.~

~My office.~ Prowl insisted. ~Three breems.~

~Okay, I'll tell him.~

"Just how much did you drink?" Circuitbreaker frowned at him, offering a third cube of solvent.

"More than was wise, clearly." Prowl grimaced. "May I assume that this will remain confidential?"

"Oh yes, of course. We don't even put this on anyone's file anymore unless it's happening too often. The files would fill up too quickly. Not that most of them even bother coming to us - they just deal with it themselves."

"Indeed. Is there anything more that you can give me to ensure I can finish my shift? After that I will be more than happy to rest quietly in my quarters, but I must be functional for the next groon."

* * *

Prowl was precisely on time, stepping in to the office and seating himself calmly behind the desk. He did not ask what this was about, not that he should need to, so Springer just jumped straight to the point.

"I need access to my ship."

"I see."

Springer clenched his fists and attempted to retain a reasonable tone.

"I understand you're the only one who knows the access code."

"That is correct."

"May I have it please?"

"No."

"Why the slag not?"

"Because if I give it to you, you will simply remove your ship and crew entirely."

"Isn't that what you want? You've done nothing but complain since we got here."

"I want your crew to follow the same rules as everyone else is expected to." Prowl told him coolly. "That said, there is no argument that they are the most effective vanguard unit we have, and we are in need of your skills."

"Then slagging well give us a job to do!" Springer exploded.

Prowl's doorwings twitched upwards in irritation, but he did not comment on the outburst.

"You are aware, I am sure, that we are planning to establish a secure base to protect sparklings, carriers and lifepairs."

"Mech, everyone this side of the galaxy knows that. Tell me something I don't know."

"We've already established where it will be."

Springer stared at him.

"What? But all those briefings! Prime's sending you to the Plutes sector - isn't that so you can find somewhere to put it? That's what you said."

"It's to draw attention." Prowl explained. "It is vital that everyone who should be evacuated is aware of our plans, and for that reason we had to make it public. But the location must remain completely secret. Thus far, we have managed that successfully."

"So where are you sending them?"

Prowl gave a faint smile.

"At this stage you are not cleared to know that. But you will be. You and your crew were brought here specifically so they could be assessed independently on their discretion."

Springer snorted derisively at that idea but dropped into a chair, his anger subsiding.

"If you're after discretion, you've got the wrong mechs."

"Actually, no I believe we have precisely the right ones." Prowl countered serenely.

"They are fractious, certainly, and I am pleased that I do not have to deal with them more directly on a regular basis, but they are very loyal to you and equally loyal to the Autobot cause, if not to its formal structures. They will not be open to the same temptations as others may be, and if one of them sways from the path set then the others know them well enough to notice and take action."

Springer was dumbfounded at the unexpected praise. He was more accustomed to nothing but criticism about his team, occasionally coupled with a grudging acceptance that the Wreckers always got the job done, and he had believed Prowl was implacably set against them after the issues they had caused since they had arrived.

"While I am away, your team will be sent some orders to have the _Xantium_ put through a maintenance check. That will be your cue to undertake this mission." Prowl held out a datapad. "I am trusting you to not share this with any of your team until the time comes."

"That's a risk, assuming I'll follow that order." Springer pointed out, subspacing the pad without looking at it.

"Perhaps." Prowl conceded.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Springer shifted.

"So are you going to give me the new codes so I can go?"

"They're on that pad." Prowl nodded. "You're welcome to return to Yemalax III at your convenience, or to remain as you choose."

"Right. I think we'll go." Springer nodded, rising. "But one last thing: how did you really beat them last night?"

"Luck."

"What?"

"If I had lost I would simply have played more rounds until I succeeded. It was only a matter of time; they were very drunk and I was not gambling with anything I could not afford to lose."

Disappointed, Springer nodded.

"Oh. Right. Well, good luck. Not that it sounds like you need it."

* * *

_Epilogue_

"Prowl, these are only the _access_ codes! I still don't have the override!" Springer ranted over the comm line.

"Unusually thoughtless of me. Perhaps due to the high grade, I rarely indulge. Did I neglect to put that in?"

"Yes. You did. So what is it?"

"I'm sorry, I can't send that information over an unsecured line."

"I'll change it straight away."

"No that's simply not possible. Regulation 46218/3/217c prohibits it. It will have to wait until you return."

"But _you_ won't be there by the time we get back!"

Prowl looked at him innocently.

"Where else would I be? It is my role to be here."

"Yes, but you... oh, slag you!"

Prowl listened patiently to the diatribe for a moment, then cut the connection when it became clear that the conversation was over and Springer only intended to swear at him.

The mech standing off to the side chuckled.

"That was cruel. And fabulous. You're a genius."

"I don't know about that, but yes it will keep them under control for awhile. You're satisfied with the arrangements?"

"Yes, on the whole." Red Alert agreed, settling into his chair again. "So long as I don't have to manage them personally, it's fine. But how did you really do it? You were so confident."

"Obviously I cheated."

"What? You? Really?"

"Yes, really."

"But I was watching and so were they! It's not possible."

"I assure you, it is."

"How?"

"I watched for several rounds before I played, taking note of every counter I saw."

"Yes? And?"

Prowl rose.

"And I am blessed with an in-built processor designed to handle large amounts of complex data. I memorised each counter, based on microscopic differences and defects, so I always knew what each player was holding and could select what I needed from the draw pile. Now if you'll excuse me, I must prepare for my trip. It would not do for me to be here if he hurries back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 8.


	41. Part 9: Falling, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 1 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** this Part is the darkest of the entire story. Adult content in chapters ahead.

Sideswipe waited in the empty antechamber, agitated.

What had gone wrong? Had Prowl gotten annoyed because of the mess the Wreckers had made of his otherwise fairly orderly ship and demanded a transfer for himself? It made no sense. Prowl needed to be here, where Prime could call upon him.

Or was it that Prowl had annoyed Optimus? Was it because he had been gambling with the Wreckers? The extraordinary story of a drunken bet had made the rounds in double-quick time, though no-one could confirm how much of it was actually true.

The door finally opened and he sprang up out of the chair he had been sitting in.

"What's this about you being reassigned?" he demanded.

Prowl paused in the doorway, no doubt startled by the unexpected interrogation, then stepped inside and shut the door.

"I believe our next scheduled game is not for five more joors."

"You're leaving us."

"No."

"You are! I saw it on the assignment boards. You're going to Ultra Nolan's unit!"

Prowl set down the pads he was carrying and began sifting through them.

"Indeed."

"Well then Sunny and I're coming with you." Sideswipe declared stubbornly.

"Yes, you are."

That stopped him in his tracks.

"What?"

Prowl continued calmly doing whatever it was he was doing, not even looking in Sideswipe's direction.

"You are coming with me. Both of you."

Sideswipe deflated.

"Oh. Really?"

"You will officially be assigned as my bodyguards." Prowl told him, a hint of distaste entering his tone. "Prime intends to brief you both himself, though circumstances may yet forestall that. We shall see. But you two _will_ be coming with me - Curveball saw to that. It seems that Jazz made it quite clear that if I were to be away..."

"Jazz? He's finally back?"

Prowl's hands stilled and he gave up on his task to simply lean against the desk, looking very tired.

"No. I wish he were."

He contemplated that for a click, then resumed his explanation.

"Prime is going to have his hands full as the Neutrals gather at Ovacalix and he will need every trustworthy mech he can muster, no matter how confident he and Tripwire are. I tried insisting that you two should remain here, but Jazz seems to have gotten to Curveball and told him I wasn't to go anywhere without you."

Prowl smiled faintly.

"I believe I told you he was not dead."

"You weren't sure, though." Sideswipe challenged him.

Prowl's smile faltered and faded.

"Knowing he's alive isn't the same as knowing he's safe."

Sideswipe felt guilty for making that expression flee so quickly. Prowl had barely mentioned Jazz's name since the mech had disappeared, and just in that moment he had looked so very happy at the thought that his sparkmate was still thinking of him.

"Aw, he'll be fine. And if he's in contact then maybe he'll be back soon."

"Perhaps." Prowl said pensively, then shook himself and returned to sorting his pads.

"In any case, my assignment is to work with Ultra Nolan to identify some defensible outposts in the Plutes sector and to prepare the security staff. Once all is ready, we will evacuate as many Neutrals as possible to that sector while several other teams act as decoys and lead the Decepticons back towards another quadrant. All going well, we should reunite with Prime's crew in approximately seven vorns."

"Why the Plutes sector? Isn't that a bit isolated? What's so special about that place?"

"That's classified. Now leave me in peace, I have a great deal to do before we leave."

* * *

Sideswipe skipped out and Prowl stared after him. What would it be like to be so carefree?

Sighing he looked sourly at the work still waiting to be done, then walked away from it through to his charging room where he curled up on his berth and offlined his optics, hugging himself. Curveball's comment as he had rushed from his office to here had subsumed both his fatigue and the lingering effects from his overindulgence.

Jazz was alive. Thank Primus.

Of course he had _known_ Jazz was alive - the bond told him that much. But in order to risk getting a message out, he must be feeling fairly secure. That was more of a relief than he had realised it would be until he heard it.

So many times he had lain here, fretting that there was no way to know that Jazz was safe. Was he properly charged and fuelled, or was he starving and exhausted? What was he having to do to prove himself loyal to the Decepticon cause? Or had he failed entirely and been captured? Was he being tortured right at this very moment? Was he dying?

He groaned to himself, hugging tighter. The questions were still the same. True, Jazz must have felt safe at the time he sent the message, but what if that had changed? What if he had compromised himself by making contact?

It was hopeless wasting time on worrying about this. Even if he knew for certain that Jazz was in trouble right at this moment there would be nothing he could do about it. He did not know where his lover was, did not know how much distance separated them. Did not even know what he looked like at the moment or what he was calling himself - there was almost certainly a disguise involved.

He sighed, ducking his head a little and rubbing one hand gently against the panelling over his spark chamber, the very last place Jazz had caressed him before they had parted.

He had no mementos of his bondmate, nothing at all to hint at their relationship. He had even avoided saying his name for so very long. If it were not for the bond, it would be hard to imagine there was even a relationship left at all. Jazz had never been into these quarters, had never lain on this berth, had not even touched him in one hundred and sixty vorns.

A century and a half, and it had passed so very quickly.

He was fast approaching his two hundred and fiftieth vorn of existence. Prior to the war, that had been a significant milestone - the age at which a mech was legally permitted to form a permanent commitment. Up until that age they were encouraged to dally and experiment and make sure that they were truly certain of the path they intended to take. Having a permanent sparkmate before then was strongly discouraged. Just discussing a future bond was sufficient cause for forcible separation, even incarceration, until the age of consent had been achieved.

"I'm nearly legal now." he whispered into the quiet of the room. "Just a few more vorns, and we could even try openly being sparkmates. Is it too much to ask for you to be here to celebrate it with me?"

As expected, there was only silence in reply.

* * *

The meeting with Prime was short. He made it clear that Prowl's safety was to be their first priority and that they should not get distracted.

"He doesn't want bodyguards, though." Sideswipe argued. "He'll probably start assigning us to other jobs away from him just to get things done."

"He has been given his orders, just as you have been given yours." Optimus told them firmly. "Quite likely nothing will happen but if the Decepticons discover what he is doing, he is a very tempting target. If there is any sign that he is at risk, call for help and get him out of there."

"Suits me." Sunstreaker lied.

Prime did not notice, did not know Sunstreaker like Sideswipe did: his brother had no intention of running, he would fight. But that was okay, too. Either way, they would keep Prowl safe.

"Good. Dismissed."

Plutes sector still seemed like an odd place to send them, but maybe that made it the _right_ place because the enemy would never believe they were serious about it. If there was something properly defensible or some natural phenomenon to assist hiding - an asteroid field or ion wash or nova radiation - it could be a very safe option well outside the normal contested areas. Any time the Decepticons headed that way, everyone would know where they were headed and they could be intercepted.

Pleased to have figured it out for himself for once and not need Prowl's explanation first, he headed off to the armoury. If they were on official duty assigned by Prime himself he might finally get that upgrade on his rifle he had been asking for. And maybe that jetpack, too? He would have to try his luck.

* * *

"Meister won't like you invoking his name like this." a disembodied voice declared as Curveball closed his office door.

"You're not due back yet. Something went wrong?"

"I couldn't get close without putting him at risk, so I withdrew." Mirage shimmered into visibility. "Thus your claim that he has been leaving messages for his lover is nothing but a lie."

"Meister doesn't have a lover." Curveball grunted. "His persona 'Jazz' does. And _Jazz_ gave me that message before he left, I just didn't pass it on until now."

"So you get his hopes up." Mirage shook his head disapprovingly. "And if Jazz is no longer interested in him when he returns?"

"That's between them. I'm just protecting his interests until he makes that call. Now lets hear your report. Just because Prime has stopped asking about those slagging factories doesn't mean he's forgotten, and we need to be ready when it's time to attack."


	42. Part 9: Falling, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 2 of 6

The trip was too long for a shuttle and their destination was supposed to be secret, so precautions had to be taken. They were confined to quarters, and no-one but the senior staff even knew they were aboard. For the first few groons the twins had sulked over that, but they were now charging and Prowl was taking advantage of the peace to go over the data just one more time.

Of all the sectors of charted space, the Plutes sector was the least explored. Initial cursory surveys just before the war had broken out had found no value: no energon deposits, no useful ore or minerals in quantities large enough to bother with, no features of interest. The base itself had been set up more as a staging post for more exploration than for any other reason, and that had never eventuated.

In short, it was perfect for his purposes.

Even if the Decepticons suspected he was trying to lead them astray, they could not take that chance. They did not know the space here any better than anyone else. It was feasible that there was a safe haven to be found here; a defensible outpost, an undiscovered treasure trove of resources.

Optimus had agreed with him that far, but then had pointed out that that simply meant they would attack as soon as he moved towards here. But they would not. At least, they _should_ not.

Capturing him now would be a small victory. Waiting until he had located that base, until the precious community of carriers had been transported to there, that would be the greatest coup. Yes it was a gamble, but the Decepticons were greedy. They would want the biggest prize. Cutting off the search before it could properly get started would not make sense.

He was sure he was right about that. His Decepticon counterpart, Powerplay, had always gone for the larger target in the past even if it meant delaying an attack. Noticing the pattern, Prowl had been able to test it a few times. Not too often, though. Powerplay might be greedy, but he was no fool.

So he would play decoy out here until the move was underway, then he would be collected by the _Escaphalion_. That was the only dangerous part: the timing at the end. And he had plenty of time before that to ensure that everything went smoothly.

Satisfied, he subspaced his encrypted pads and settled down to get some charge.

* * *

Two joors later, he was not at all amused to arrive and be ordered - _ordered!_ \- to report directly to the base commander, someone who was hierarchically his subordinate.

It was not his intention to begin this assignment in such a way - they did have to work together for the next few vorns, after all, and Nolan could no doubt make it very difficult for him if he chose to - but he was not going to stand for an explicit slur on his authority as a first impression.

Peremptorily sending a nearby aide to report that he would attend at his earliest convenience, he then instructed the lieutenant who had greeted him to take him to his quarters. A shame that he would not have time to learn the layout of the base before beginning work. He would remedy that as soon as he could, but in the meantime he wanted to set a secure lock on the room and to ensure that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had access and that everyone else did not.

The rooms were somewhat smaller than those to which he had become accustomed, but they were functional and situated next to the commander's own so there was no slight intended there. On the other hand, he was not going to tolerate the plan of the twins being situated half the length of the base away. He might not like the fact that they had been assigned as bodyguards, but he would not ignore that role either: he did not have time to be dealing with a bored Sideswipe, for a start.

"Are there no quarters nearer?" he asked as he directed a drone to begin unpacking his case of datapads.

"None that are available, sir."

"Then make some available."

"Sir?"

"Where are your quarters?"

He heard Sideswipe snigger but ignored it.

"Mine sir? In the third barracks."

Barracks. No good.

"Very well. For now have a berth moved into here - I will simply have to use my office for all work engagements until we get this sorted out satisfactorily. I assume one berth will suffice?" he directed the last question at the twins.

Sideswipe grinned at him merrily and Sunstreaker sighed, but they both nodded.

"One of us'll be on duty, anyway." Sunstreaker pointed out.

"Exactly so. Now, I'm going to clean myself up in readiness to meet Ultra Nolan. One of you go with our guide and send a message back to the _Escaphalion_ that we have arrived. I will be out in two breems and I want you both ready to come with me."

* * *

"Is he always like that?"

Sideswipe laughed.

"Not always, but if this Ultra Nolan was trying to offend him he's succeeded pretty well."

"Offend him? I'm sure that was not the intention."

"Well he's done it anyway. Never mind. Prowl'll get over it. So what's Nolan like, anyway."

" _Ultra_ Nolan."

"What, you always use his title?"

"Yes. Always."

"Even when he's not around?"

"Of course."

"Whew. The mech's a bit stuck in his programming, is he? Even Optimus doesn't insist on his title all the time, just when you're on duty."

The other mech stopped, dismayed.

"You call the Prime by name!" he whispered.

"Sure. Off duty, anyway. On duty, he's 'sir'. Well, to everyone except the officers, but there's gotta be _some_ perks of the job, right? What'd you say your name was, again?"

"Viperon." the mech said stiffly.

"I'm Sideswipe, but I'm happy just being known as Sides or Siders. My brother, though, really prefers his full name. Gets kinda cranky if anyone but me calls him Sunny."

"Your given names are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and that is what you will be called. As you will call me Lieutenant Viperon."

Sideswipe sighed.

"Right. Gee, I can see now this is going to be _so_ much fun."

* * *

"Your guards can wait outside."

Prowl nodded evenly, already prepared for such a move and intending to ensure that the same was true of Nolan's aide. Either they would all leave, or all stay.

"Very well. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, wait outside with Lieutenant Viperon."

There was no chair set ready for him and he considered asking for one but then decided he was tired of the whole political game. He was not going to stand to attention before this closed-program mech but he would not stoop to his level of pettiness either. Instead, he paced over to a side table that was clearly used by a secretary and retrieved the chair then moved it closer to the main desk.

"I have not given you leave to be seated."

"I do not require your permission." Prowl reminded him mildly, sitting and subspacing the datapad he had been about to hand over.

"It seems that you are labouring under some misconceptions as to the situation here, and I would like to resolve this peaceably. Optimus Prime has sent me here to oversee this project. He has done so, to some extent, because you were less than forthcoming in your responses to his enquiries. I have no intention to supplant you nor to undermine your authority; this is your command and I have other work to do.

"That said, I will not tolerate your attempts to control _me_. If I must be explicit then I shall be: I outrank you. I obey the orders of the Matrix Bearer and none other. I am prepared to work alongside you and to consider any advice you may have for me, particularly regarding the placement of personnel and provisions, but if you choose to block me then I will simply override you."

He paused, watching Nolan carefully for his reaction. It was obvious from his expression that he did not like what he was hearing, but which way would he go?

"Of course, my staff and I would be more than happy to assist the Autobot cause in any way we can."

Assist the cause? That was Neutral talk. Still, perhaps it did not matter so long as the job got done.

"I'm sure that Prime will be pleased to hear that you are being so obliging." He unsubspaced the pad again. "Now. We must talk about the work schedule. There is much to be done."

* * *

Viperon had left as soon as the door was closed, clearly considering himself too important to hang around waiting in the foyer. He had left them in the care of a small blue minibot who was short even for one of his model. Sideswipe had never been that fussed with minibots, but this one had a sense of humour and a subspace pocket full of high-grade, so he was fast becoming Sideswipe's new best friend.

"So truth now," Camber asked, "are you two _really_ his bodyguards?"

"Sure. Prime himself sent us to be. Why?"

"Well," Camber confided, leaning closer, " _I'd_ heard he's just got a thing for twins."

"Well you heard wrong." Sideswipe frowned at him, wondering who could possibly have started a rumour like that in the short time they had been here. "This is just a job."

"Guess so."

"Don't ask us." Sunstreaker told him, reaching for another cube. "We just do what we're told."

"I hear that. But you gotta admit, it looks like something else. I mean just look at what he's already done - shifting you into his antechamber. And with only one berth."

Sideswipe smirked and opened his mouth to paint rather a lewd picture for their new mini friend, but Sunstreaker stopped him.

/There's no telling who he reports to. If the wrong story gets out, Prime'll be furious and so will Prowl. I don't want to be stuck here for vorns with a pissed off Prowl./

/Spoilsport./

"That's because we really _are_ his bodyguards." Sideswipe shrugged, responding aloud. "Only one of us'll be charging at a time."

"Who're you protecting him _from_ , though?" Camber persisted. "We haven't seen a Decepticon out here in a century. More, maybe."

"We just do what we're told." Sunstreaker told him. "Prime says come, we come. So what's your role here?"

"I'm a mixer."

"A what?" Sideswipe asked.

"Ah. Maybe you should just come and see."

* * *

Prowl buried his face in his hands, frustrated and tired.

In spite of the extensive correspondence over the past vorn, Ultra Nolan had done absolutely nothing to prepare for this change to how his unit operated. There had been no recent scans done of the moons and planets in the three viable solar systems; no data analyses of the naturally occurring spatial anomalies that could potentially provide protection through distortion of tracking signals; no selection of teams to manage each site.

Nolan kept insisting that the Plutes sector was the wrong place to be doing this, and would not budge beyond that point in spite of the fact that it was no longer up for discussion. Their meeting had eventually ended in stalemate: Nolan would allow him to do what he felt he had to and would make staff available to him, but he would have to organise everything himself.

It was not the organising that bothered him. He generally preferred to do things his own way in any case, that way he knew that nothing had been overlooked. But something in the way Nolan had answered told him that the commander was going to make this all as difficult as possible without actively getting in the way.

It was so very frustrating. Did he not understand how important all of this was? Mechs and femmes and sparklings were _dying_ out there. They needed somewhere safe to hide. To be given that responsibility was an honour, not a chore, even if the truth was that this was all actually a diversion. Nolan did not know that, nor did he need to, so his resistance was inexplicable.

Could he truly be so oblivious as to see this responsibility as only an inconvenience? Or was it something else?

The entry bell chimed and he straightened his posture before calling for them to enter, wondering how much of a good impression he would be able to make on a crew predisposed to dislike him. This time, however, it turned out that there was little need for the effort as it was only Sideswipe carrying a tray.

"You won't _believe_ what they've got here!" he exclaimed as he entered. "Not just high-grade but _twenty-seven_ different mixes. Twenty-seven! And even more mid-grades. And energon goodies! I haven't had goodies since I was a sparkling! And the oils! Primus Prowl it's like being back in civilization again."

The tray was covered in items that he could only assume were delicacies he had never experienced.

The cube of energon was recognisable enough, but what were the jellied things? And was that rust on that piece of tubing? Surely that was too dangerous to eat? And the ball of tangled wires encrusted with tiny crystals just looked like something from the corrosives scrap bin in Ratchet's surgery ward, not something edible.

Suddenly, intensely, he found he was longing for Jazz. For the comfort of having someone who knew that he did not know these things and would take the time to explain them and not think less of him.

Shaking his head, he motioned away from the desk.

"Take it away, I'm not hungry."

Sideswipe peered at him, then set the tray down on the desk and leaned closer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I have work to do."

"Oh!" Sideswipe commented as though something had just occurred to him. "It's okay. Makes me a bit homesick, too. I just thought you'd appreciate some Praxian specialties, that's all. I'm sorry."

Praxian? Then some of these - perhaps all - were the foods of his supposed home city. Something else to research when he had time.

"It's not your fault." he apologised, then indulged in a more honest confession than he would dare with anyone else. "I'm just... missing Jazz. I could use his help."

"Sunny'n I'll help." Sideswipe offered loyally. "It's not the same, but it's something, right?"

Prowl smiled in spite of himself.

"Yes, it's something. Thank you Sideswipe."

"You're welcome. So. Where can I start?"

The red toughline moved back around the desk to start looking at the pads there, but Prowl pointed to the tray.

"You can start by helping me with _that_. There's no way I can eat it all by myself."

And besides, it would give him a chance to see _how_ to eat it.

* * *

Sideswipe paused on a balcony, looking out at the horizon at the sunset. It was funny how the simplest things became so important after vorns of living on spaceships. This precise scene, though, made him think of a painting his brother had once created, back before everything went crazy.

Letting his attention wander he was not sure how long he was there before he noticed voices coming from the mezzanine corridor above him. But one phrase snared his full attention.

"Of course I mean Prowl! Who else would I mean?"

The other mech spoke too softly to make out the response, but the first seemed not to care who heard him.

"Just find something. Everyone's got secrets to hide, and he's no different. I'll teach him to talk to _me_ like that..."

A door closed, cutting the words off, and Sideswipe frowned deeply. The speaker was Nolan, he was sure of it. It had been obvious since they arrived that he did not want them here, but to go so far as to look for blackmail material?

Shaking his head slowly, he began to move back inside. Maybe this was why Prime had felt Prowl needed bodyguards. Well Nolan could try, but Prowl was clean. He barely did anything outside of his rostered duty, and even if that rumour of gambling with the Wreckers could be proven it wouldn't give any real leverage.

The mech was sour, that was all. But Prowl would deal with him, Sideswipe was sure of that.


	43. Part 9: Falling, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 3 of 6

Progress was slow.

Everyone was under the impression that if they simply delayed the data collection process then Luciana would never be established in the Plutes sector and they would be able to continue their comfortable existence undisturbed. So shuttle launches were delayed, specialists forgot important tools, pilots mislaid flight plans.

Where the lapses were too blatant Prowl was forced to respond with disciplinary measures, which was generally taken as proof that he was in fact attempting to replace Nolan. Such measures rarely worked in any case, since Nolan constantly undermined him by finding mitigating circumstances and altering the punishment.

It made his responses seem unduly harsh and built further loyalty to Nolan which in turn made Prowl's job harder.

Nolan himself was cautious never to do anything which could not be explained away. He had made it clear from the beginning that he did not want interference, that he did not want attention drawn here and that he blamed Prowl for ruining the peaceful running of his base. Since then he had also let slip that he had been friends with Quickquadrant in the early stages of the war, and that it had been through the former CTO's efforts that he had gained the position he now held. A position he felt the new CTO was threatening.

The whole mess frustrated Prowl because he could see no resolution to it.

If this were not just a diversion, he would have simply suspended Nolan from his post and brought in a squad to maintain order. But he did not want to move any troops here at this stage: that might cause the Decepticons to act, thinking that the move was underway. It had to look as though they were still seeking a viable site, and why would he need more military support for that when he already had a base full of soldiers here?

It made no difference how often he told mecha that he did not want Nolan's position; they were not looking for logical explanations. He had no reason to want it. His place was with Prime on the _Escaphalion_. He would certainly be reporting back to Optimus about the disturbing culture that had been established here, and that might well result in Nolan being replaced, but he had no interest in the position for himself.

The only solution he could see was to battle on, to make it look as though everything was running to plan and that he was still analysing data. It was not as though this situation would go on for long. A couple more vorns. The atmosphere was unpleasant but he could endure.

In the end, so long as the Decepticons had no idea where Luciana truly was located, it was worth his temporary discomfort.

* * *

It did not take long to fall into a routine.

The twins alternated shifts, one always with Prowl wherever he was. When he left the base, they were both with him. Always. It did seem a little redundant, but he appreciated their presence. He often seemed lonely these days, struggling with every small detail against mecha who were borderline insubordinate, doing twice the work he should need to in order to make sure things were done properly.

There were no battle plans to organise, thus no way for him to prove his worth in any active sense, and most of the crew here were convinced he was just trying to usurp Nolan's position. They continued to believe that that was why he was present no matter how many times they were told that he did not want it. Worse, the heavy workload he set for himself meant that they saw little of him except on duty and there he was as rigid and proper as ever.

Sideswipe had tried in vain to get him to come to one of the recreational areas when he was off-duty. Not that he ever _was_ off-duty. He insisted that they both have regular breaks from their duties, and even encouraged Sideswipe's new hobby of learning energon mixing from Camber, but he worked every orn from the moment he onlined to the moment he stumbled back to the charging berth. He claimed it was the only way to meet the demanding schedule Optimus had set, but he never explained why or what that schedule was.

Today, though, was different.

It had been two full vorns of constant work, investigating and assessing potential sites for the new base, but today Prowl was finally taking a few joors off. He had tried to get them both to do the same and go and enjoy themselves, insisting that he was safe enough in their quarters, but Sideswipe had stayed anyway. He had had a whole orn off duty not too long ago and had no particular destination in mind.

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that left completely to his own devices Prowl might just start working again out of habit.

So far he had not. He had shut himself in his private washrack for so long that Sideswipe had begun to wonder if he had drowned in there, then emerged with his finish so perfectly presented that it would have made Sunstreaker jealous had he been there to see it.

Sideswipe had taken some image captures to tease his vain brother with, particularly of that shiny black aft. Sometimes he forgot to notice how handsome Prowl really was. Not that the tactician was interested in a relationship with anyone other than the long-absent Jazz.

When he had asked what the occasion was, Prowl had looked flustered then admitted that there was none: that this was just an indulgence.

For two groons they did nothing but play games and nibble on the green copper-ferrous rust sticks which seemed to be Prowl's favourite snack and chatter about inconsequential things like whether the atmospheric colouring on moon Telsa-6 was more or less intense than the equatorial lakes of Galgalli; or how long it would take Ironhide to get the lazy mechs here into shape.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sideswipe asked as the Prowl reset the board for yet another round.

"You've been asking without needing permission so far."

"How did you and Jazz meet?"

Prowl's hands stilled for a click, then he continued setting the board and smiled fondly in memory, staring down at the table as though seeing something else there.

"He attacked me."

"He what!"

"He thought I was an intruder and assumed I was there to kill him, so he attacked me."

"Well you weren't. Uh, were you?"

"Hardly." Prowl snorted softly, then picked up another rust stick and twirled it in his fingers, watching small flakes drift off and fall onto the board. "The _Ark_ was full of refugees when I came on board, and there were no spare quarters. Jazz was off-ship at the time and there was a second berth in his room anyway, so they put me in there.

"I had been there twelve orns without ever seeing him, and then I got off-shift one evening and startled him out of charging. It's the only time I've ever managed such a thing, actually." he mused, frowning slightly. "Usually he onlines the moment the door starts to open."

"So then what?" Sideswipe asked curiously, refilling Prowl's cube from the cask of mid-grade they had broached awhile earlier. "How did you end up in separate rooms again? And when did he start trying to ravish you instead of killing you? Joors or orns?"

Prowl twitched in embarrassment and broke a segment off the stick to chew to give himself a moment to regain his composure before responding.

"It took a good deal longer than you seem to believe." he replied, his nonchalant tone belied by the soft hum of an internal fan starting up. "We were merely friends for a while. As for when I moved out, that was simply..."

He paused at the sound of the door chime. Sideswipe rose and went to answer it, dismayed to see Viperon.

"What do you want?"

"The commander requests the presence of Tactician Prowl at his earliest convenience."

Sideswipe growled. He should have guessed they would have to interfere.

"He's off-duty for the first time since we got here..."

"That's alright, Sideswipe. I shall come now, lieutenant. Please lead the way."

* * *

Ultra Nolan walked in slow circles around where Prowl was sitting, saying nothing for a long moment, just looking and ignoring Prowl's initial query regarding the reason for this summons. After several circuits, he stopped directly behind him. Prowl's doorwings twitched a little, disliking the sense of the other mech looming over him.

"You were there when Quickquadrant died." Nolan stated finally.

"That is correct. May I ask what this is about?"

"This? This is about me ending this little farce of yours. Something that has taken far too long."

Prowl was not sure where this was leading, but he disliked Nolan's tone. Clearly the mech felt he had some kind of hold over him, but what could it be? Not the bond, that was not possible. No-one knew about that. His relationship with Jazz, then? Hardly worth anything as blackmail - they had not seen each other in longer than most relationships lasted, and besides there was nothing scandalous about it. So what, then?

"Chief Tactical Officer and on the senior command team." Nolan mused, strolling around to stand in front of him again. "That's a prestigious position. Some might even think it a good position for a Decepticon spy."

Prowl frowned.

"If you think..."

Nolan cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Oh not me. No, I know better. I _know_ you aren't. How do I know that? Well because I know what you are."

"And just what is it that you believe that I am?" Prowl asked drily.

Nolan smirked.

"A new-adult."

"That's absurd." Prowl responded automatically.

"Absurd, yes, but true. Oh yes it is. I knew you had to be hiding something. Appearing out of nowhere like that, with all this skill? Where had you been? And of Praxian design? When Praxus was one of the first centres to fall, and everyone _knows_ that Bluestreak was the only survivor on the ground at the time? But that did not stop your creator from building you elsewhere, did it?"

"I believe you are overcharged." Prowl said flatly. "This is mere speculation and..."

"No it's not. See I found the mech who built your frame. On Cassidara, two hundred and fifty-three vorns ago. He didn't know what you'd been called after you were activated, or your colouration or alt-mode, but he recognised your specs right down to that rather unique valt-split tactical processor in your head.

"A _very_ rare addition, wouldn't you say? They were only invented _during_ the war, and having them implanted drives most mechs mad. But _you_ don't have that problem do you? Of course not. And why? Because it's hardline coded into your systems!"

Prowl stilled in dismay.

The evidence was too compelling. The rumour alone would have been damaging enough, but Nolan had truly investigated this and had uncovered clues that Prowl had not even known were there. Yes, he had had medics comment on the rarity of his tactical processor, but he had not registered quite how unusual it was: it was just part of him.

"You were only a sparkling when they found you amongst the refugees on the Tlali moon." Nolan continued implacably.

"A sparkling. Not even old enough to have _started_ training under the rules before the war, and here you were taking up a position as Quickquadrant's apprentice. But Quad found out, didn't he? He was too clever to be fooled for long, so when he threatened to tell Prime you murdered him. Don't even try to argue - I found a witness. An ensign who got sent to the back of beyond so he wouldn't spill the story. But he _saw_ you with the rifle in your hand. 'Suicide by scatterbomb' my aft. I never believed that story and now I have proof!"

That was not how it had happened at all, but there was no point quibbling over the details. Nolan would never believe that his friend had been a traitor, certainly not on his word alone. Perhaps not even if Optimus himself told him. The proof of murder was not the major concern, in any case. Prime already knew all about that. But just the hint of the truth about his age would be disasterous. There had to be another way.

"If you are so certain of your facts, why not simply announce them and have me demoted?" Prowl asked, trying to sound casual about the concept.

"Because I don't want to out you. I will if I must, but I would rather come to some... arrangement."

"Arrangement?"

"Yes. A simple one, at that. I will remain silent on the subject of your age; and in return you will do whatever I ask you to. Your obedience in exchange for my silence."

* * *

" _Why_?" Sideswipe exploded, pacing angrily. "You don't need to obey him, you _rank_ him. Why are you doing this?"

Prowl looked thoroughly miserable. He had left Nolan's office as calm and contained as ever and instructed Sideswipe to find his twin and meet him in their quarters. When they arrived he had locked the door then confessed that he had agreed to follow Nolan's orders from this point forward and that he needed them to accept this change without protest.

"I'll sort him out." Sunstreaker vowed, fists clenching menacingly. "He won't bother you again when I'm done with him."

"No. No, I... have to do this."

"Why?" Sideswipe groaned.

Prowl flinched.

"He has information that I cannot afford to have exposed."

"He's _blackmailing_ you!" Sideswipe realised, abruptly remembering an overheard conversation from when they had first arrived and wishing he had mentioned it earlier.

Maybe a bit of forewarning would have helped prevent this?

"A fist through his vocaliser'd stop that."

"No." Prowl insisted. "That won't help. You'll just end up in the brig and I'll be..." He cut himself off with a shudder, then gathered his composure again. "I can do this."

"But it's _wrong_." Sideswipe tried to make him understand.

"Yes it is." Prowl deflated. "But I can't...Optimus can't find out about this. It's worth the price. It is."

Sideswipe looked to his twin for inspiration but Sunstreaker was simply glowering at the floor.

"Jazz'll be furious with us." he tried, knowing it was cruel but unable to think of any other argument that might stop all of this. "We were supposed to protect you."

"He'll understand." Prowl promised hoarsely, heading for the privacy of his berthroom. "I have no choice."

The door closed, the conversation was over, and that was that.


	44. Part 9: Falling, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 4 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: rape. Read cautiously, okay?

He expected it to be humiliating, but it was worse than he anticipated. Nolan took great delight in making him look a fool in front of his subordinates, compelling him to admit to errors that he had never made and apologise for mistakes that were not his own.

What small amount of respect he had earned from the mechs on the base was quickly eroded entirely, and he soon found others following Nolan's lead. Petty tricks were played: exchanging glue for the cleanser in his washrack, replacing the images in his presentations for pornography, scrawling crude graffiti where he would see it.

The twins were furious about it all, often getting into fights which was an additional humiliation as Prowl was then forced to beg Nolan to release them or risk Nolan reporting their conduct to Optimus. Their presence was a comfort to him, though, and he did feel safer walking the corridors with them flanking him - a duty they now both took very seriously.

Shameful as it was, he had ended up requiring bodyguards to protect him from hostile allies rather than from attacking enemies.

Very little progress was being made on his work schedule, and Nolan was also delighting in the increasingly concerned responses from the _Escaphalion_ as he had to request additional time to complete basic tasks. Twice Prowl had had to submit Nolan's reports as his own, reports that claimed the repeated delays were due entirely to his own incompetence.

"I could answer directly." Nolan grinned at him as the second one was being transmitted. "I could tell him the truth. In fact, I'd love to. Would you prefer that?"

Prowl walked away silently. He would survive this, he told himself firmly, clenching his fists so hard that warning messages popped up on his HUD. He would not allow Nolan to break him. Others had survived this, and worse, and so would he.

And in just a handful of vorns, it would no longer matter. It would be embarrassing, but once he was actually of age it would no longer matter if Optimus found out. Prime would no doubt still be angry, but there would be no need to act on the information in the same way as there would be while Prowl was still underage.

To end this he would even tell Optimus himself, but not yet. Not until he was old enough.

A few more vorns. He just had to hold out for that long.

* * *

"You realise, the funniest part of all of this is that we're going to end up as friends?" Nolan laughed as they strolled around the grounds, the twin bodyguards stalking along behind them like malevolent shadows.

Prowl did not laugh with him. He was clearly exhausted, and taking a 'break' to observe the construction progress of the new recreational spa was most certainly not what he wanted to be doing. But Nolan had insisted and the mech had not argued.

"Oh yes." Nolan continued cheerfully. "We're going to need to stay in close contact once your little mission here has finished."

He was more than a little disappointed that Prowl had remained determined to continue with the surveys and investigations of possible sites. But he had blackmailed plenty of others in the past and he recognised a tipping point when he saw one: if he pushed that too hard, Prowl would simply reveal the truth and take the consequences. Possibly the only reason he had not done so already was that Nolan had been careful to keep him too busy to consider it.

The problem was, the scandal of Prowl becoming CTO while he was still a sparkling was not really enough leverage. If he were _still_ a sparkling it might be different, but given his immaculate record - and Nolan knew full well how immaculate that record was, given the tedious amounts of detail his contacts had brought in - it may all be overlooked. Prime supported him, after all. And needed a tactician.

Even the evidence that he had shot Quickquadrant was not that big a deal. For that ensign to be sent so far out of the way, Prime probably already knew about Prowl's part in his death. And knowing Quad as he had, Nolan would be very surprised if there wasn't more to that story than he had found out.

He had leverage now, but how to make it last? Nolan had no intention of being dragged back into the conflict. It was comfortable out here. They lived like civilised mecha, they were starting to revive some of the old entertainments and build proper complexes. If not for this disruption, they might have been able to ignore the war altogether.

Not that they were Neutral. Oh no, never that. If they declared themselves Neutral, the Autobots would withdraw their supplies and support, and that would make them a target for the Decepticons. No, they had to remain affiliated with the Prime, just... ignored.

And the only way to sustain that was to have control over someone on the command team who could ensure they remained undisturbed. His dirt on Quickquadrant had served him well for a long time, but now that that mech was gone, he needed someone else.

Prowl's age. That was the key. It was a limited opportunity; the older he got, the less effect any threat would have. But how to take advantage of it when he was just a few vorns too late.

He paused. Just a few vorns? Perhaps there was a way after all. Risky - if he were wrong he would have to take drastic measures - and yet the potential was there.

He smiled, walking on. He might have just found his way forward after all.

* * *

"Ah Prowl, good, I was just coming to find you."

Sunstreaker growled, moving to stand between Prowl and the dodgy commander. He was always doing this, waiting until Prowl was about to take a break then insisting on some things being done immediately, and Prowl always allowed it. Surely not tonight, though? Prowl had been all but dropping offline at his desk before Sunstreaker had hauled him out of his office.

"Actually, commander, I am rather tired. Could it possibly wait until tomorrow?"

"I would not ask if it were unnecessary." Nolan smiled with false sympathy, reaching out to touch Prowl's arm.

The smile faltered a little as Prowl smoothly avoided the contact, but strengthened again at Prowl's response.

"Very well. Shall we go to your office, or mine?"

"No need for that." Nolan shook his head, gesturing to the nearby door to his quarters.

"You better start thinking again..." Sunstreaker began to threaten him, but Prowl overrode him.

"Very well, if it is brief."

"Prowl!" Sunstreaker protested. "He's just baiting you!"

"I've made my decision."

"Which means you're dismissed." Nolan said firmly, putting one hand on Prowl's shoulder and guiding him to the door. "There's nothing to protect him from here: he'll be with me."

* * *

It was very late when Prowl finally stumbled out of Nolan's quarters, and he paused in confusion to find the corridor filled with mechs. Several of them stared back and began whispering amongst themselves. Then suddenly he was flanked by familiar red and yellow forms who swept him away, back to his rooms.

"What is going on?" he asked as the door closed.

"We should be asking _you_." Sunstreaker fumed.

"Whatever he's got on you, you don't have to share with him!" Sideswipe added in disgust.

Prowl stared at him blankly.

"Of course not."

"Oh so now you're lying to us?"

Prowl frowned, hurt that they thought so little of him.

"We were going over the data collected to date. Prime is sending a courier tomorrow... today," he corrected himself, "and Nolan wants to be able to answer any questions he's asked."

"Slagger gets to sound all competent when he's been doing slag all." Sideswipe huffed.

"Meanwhile half the third shift's just seen you slipping out of his quarters in the middle of the night, looking drunk." Sunstreaker added. "And they'll all be thinking the same thing."

Prowl shook his head, too tired to focus on this now. He needed to charge.

"I can't help what others might assume. Nor can I make you believe a truth that you do not want to hear. I can only tell you that nothing happened."

* * *

The evening invites to Nolan's chambers continued, fuelling the rumours. Nolan did not claim anything himself, but his denials were almost worse since they hinted that he was fending off Prowl's advances.

If it were not so tragic it might be laughable. Any other section of the Autobot forces would know Prowl's reputation and not believe it, but isolated out here things were getting well out of hand. When he went to retrieve their morning rations, Sideswipe heard mutterings that Prowl was not even good at his job, that he had berth-hopped his way to his current position. And this morning, that Nolan had tried to resist but had finally succumbed.

Even Camber would not believe the truth that Nolan was behind it all.

"Look, I've known Ultra Nolan for centuries. He's a bit stiff and stuffy, but he protects his mechs. He's the one who got us to where we are, got us back some of the things we used to take for granted. Without him I'd be carrying a gun and wasting my life away on guard duty instead of mixing. Everything works just fine here - why would he resort to petty blackmail? It doesn't make sense."

And that was the last conversation they had had. Sideswipe could no longer bear his company if he was not going to help Prowl.

* * *

Nolan offered a drink, just as he did every time he insisted on one of these meetings, and Prowl accepted it silently, sipping at it in the hope that it would help him remain alert until he could retire for a few groons charge.

He simply could not see his way out of this corner he was in. He wished he dared contact the Escaphalion for news, or even Blaster on Ovacalix, but he did not. If they had not yet moved the refugees, if they had not yet started the shift, then all attention must remain out here. There must be no contact between him and the rest of the fleet that might make someone suspicious.

The most dangerous time of all would be when they started the move. Although there were plans in place to make it look as though all the refugees were still at Ovacalix for awhile after they had in fact left, once that ruse was broken the Decepticons would likely attack. And unless something had gone very wrong, their target would be him, and here.

Nolan's hand on his arm startled him out of his thoughts and he was unhappy to see how close the commander had come. He tried to pull away... and could not.

Alarmed, he tried to struggle but he could neither move nor speak. The drink, he realised belatedly as Nolan pried the cube from his immobile fingers. It had not been high grade, but it must have been drugged. But why?

"Don't like it, having someone else be in control, do you?" Nolan muttered, laying him down on the floor. "Don't like being pushed around. Well too bad. Should've thought of that before you came around messing up my base."

Horror flushed through him a he felt Nolan's hands wandering over his torso, but he could do nothing to defend himself.

"It's not like I wanted to do this. You pushed me to it. But if I'm right about your age then you've also _got_ to be... ah!"

A data port was uncovered, a cable connected. Foreign code battered at his stalled firewalls quickly breaking through. What had Nolan done to him?

"You've only got yourself to blame. All I wanted was for you to leave us alone. Why couldn't you just do that? Was it really that much to ask? I don't _want_ to be part of your war. The mecha here are good sorts, civilians before all this chaos. Why should they have to fight? Why should I? We were doing just fine out here, forgotten. Well maybe not forgotten, Quad took care of us. But then you put paid to that and now you're drawing all this attention... ah, that's it!"

Prowl wanted to scream as he felt his chest panels opening to a medical code. Instead he could only watch helplessly.

"It's not like I wanted to do this. But I need something that'll keep you away. Keep us safe. I'll do anything for that. Even this."

Nolan's fingers trailed over the closed spark chamber, then he shook his head.

"You're a made spark. You have to be, given your age - you can't have come from Vector Sigma and no split spark could have developed so quickly. And almost all made sparks are carrier. That's a secret you want to keep, isn't it? After all, if Prime knew then he'd send you into safety with the others. I know you don't want that. And the only way to stop me telling him - _ever_ \- is if you keep this base out of your plans."

As he spoke his fingers kept moving restlessly, unwelcome caresses that Prowl would have given anything to be able to pull away from.

"But I could still be wrong, couldn't I?" Nolan asked rhetorically. "Without a medic to do the testing there's only one way to be sure. And I need to be sure. Luckily, you're just my type."

To Prowl's disgust, Nolan leaned down and kissed him. Desperate, he tried to find a way to respond. He had no physical recourse but the dataport Nolan had used was still active.

The commander jerked back, hissing and pulling his cable out of the port, glaring at him and grabbing a bottle of something off a table.

"There's no point fighting: either I'm going to prove my theory and form a spark with you, or you're going to suffer a tragic accident. Either way, this ends and I get my peace and quiet back. Either way, I win."

* * *

Sideswipe strode down the corridor, trying to calm himself down. Prowl was less likely to listen to his arguments if he was emotional; he needed to lay out the facts calmly if this was going to work at all.

It had been yet another hard orn in an endless string of them since Prowl had agreed to let Nolan blackmail him.

Prowl's so-called tactical students were not interested in his lessons, and had become even more derisive than before now that he had difficulty completing all of the necessary preparatory work. He was barely fueling and not getting nearly enough rest, and when he was online he was distracted and kept making errors that required him to do the same task over and over rather than just once as per normal.

Their jeers and backstabbing taunts were bad enough, but today there had been a new edge to it all that had thrown Sunstreaker into such a rage that Sideswipe had been nearly overcome himself from the other end of the base. He had left Prowl washing in the racks and dashed to his brother's side, arriving to find the golden warrior had offlined or otherwise injured dozens of locals and was still mad enough to kill. Sideswipe had hurried him out of there as fast as he could and talked him into hiding in an old storeroom until he calmed down, but now he had to tell Prowl and he was not looking forward to it.

The new rumours claimed that Prowl had reached his current position not at all through merit but by sharing with _all_ his superiors - sometimes several of them at once. It was said that Nolan had held out for a long while, but since Prowl had pushed his way into that good mech's berth he was now blackmailing him into keeping him there.

It was a sickening reversal of the true situation and more than he could bear.

They had to get out of here. Forget the mission: Luciana could not be established here anyway with Nolan so antagonistic, and in the meantime this was destroying Prowl's reputation. Prime would forgive him. They would explain, and he would understand - he was too compassionate to not do so. And if they begged, perhaps he would not even look too closely into whatever Prowl was trying to hide.

Or... well, there would be some way around that. And once Prowl could actually get some proper rest, he would probably be able to make a proper plan for himself. That was what he was best at, after all.

Determined to make Prowl strategise a way out of the whole mess once and for all, he turned the corner and found Viperon standing guard outside Prowl's room.

"What are you doing here?"

"That's none of your business."

"Let me past."

"Ultra Nolan demands privacy."

"I'm not going to ask again." Sideswipe growled, shoving him aside and opening the door.

The scene was worse than he could have imagined: Prowl was on the floor, pinned down by Nolan's bulk. Viperon gasped and backed away but Sideswipe barely noticed, converting his hands into the pile-drivers he used in battle.

"Get the slag _off_ him!" he bellowed, screaming across the bond for his brother and simultaneously charging at Nolan.

There was a sickening tearing sound as attached cords snapped and Nolan yelped, tumbling against the wall. Sideswipe ignored him for now, crouching beside Prowl who was not moving. His optics were dimly lit and flickering abnormally. Drugged, maybe?

Before he could investigate further, Nolan barrelled into him from the side.

"How _dare_ you? Viperon! Take this glitch to the brig - I'll have him charged with assault! Viperon? Where are you going?"

The lieutenant was shaking his head.

"I can't... I can't... be part of this..." he stammered.

"Are you disobeying a direct order?" Nolan growled.

Then Sunny arrived. And then things started to get messy.

* * *

Prowl whimpered as rough hands jolted him.

It hurt. Everything hurt. He had begged for it to stop, first in words, then in sonics, then even in binary click when he lacked the processing capacity to handle what was happening, but nothing had made any difference. The violation had been so deep and violent and unexpected.

Someone pressed something to his lips and he tried to turn his head away. He could not drink now; did not want to. Likely it was just another drug, anyway. That second one had knocked him hard, taking away most of his senses. He would never have let the commander access his spark chamber otherwise. Would have had the strength to pull free.

Jazz was the only one who had ever touched him there. Jazz who was so gentle and patient. Nolan was not patient. He had plugged into the interface port without completing the loop and flooded him with unwanted data and coding. This was how it was done in the Decepticon breeder factories, Prowl had had time to think as his chest panels opened against his will. They hacked your protections and exposed your spark and...

"No, no, no..." he moaned, trying to pull away but unable to even raise his arms.

The drug was still cycling through his system; he could feel it. Paralysing him from the neck down, and at the same time artificially arousing him.

He sobbed at the ultimate humiliation. In this condition Nolan could molest him again and there would be nothing he could do. Or even give him to others. Or sell him to the Decepticons. He could not even bring his optics online to see where he was or who was with him, and his audial input was scrambled.

The only functioning sense was touch. He could feel everything, and his overheated body sent conflicting messages to his processor, simultaneously trying to find release and attempting to recoil in revulsion from it.

More movement, and this time he was laid on a berth.

He whimpered. Why did Nolan bother? He had taken him on the floor before, why care now? Or was this someone else who had him?

Hands held his head still and a drinking receptacle was once again pressed to his lips, meaning that there was more than one of them. He tried again to shake his head, trembling in fear. Why were they trying to give him more? Did they not realise that he was already helpless?

* * *

"It's no good, Sides, he'll just have to wait until it wears off."

"Not yet. We can't give up yet."

"This just isn't working."

"But it could take groons to wear off." Sideswipe argued, staring down at Prowl in dismay. "We have to try again. If he can just swallow a mouthful it'll start him purging and that'll make a difference."

Sunstreaker shook his head and muttered grumpily about going to check the shuttle's medical kit for a funnel, then stomped off.

Sideswipe paced away, struggling against the urge to punch something, trying to focus.

They were safe now - well, relatively so. Nolan's base was so relaxed that they had had no trouble taking this shuttle and taking off without even logging a flight plan. They weren't even queried, likely since there was no-one bothering to watch the monitoring station: Prowl had had no success at all in imparting the importance of that to them in the time they had been there.

This shuttle would not get them all the way back to the _Escaphalion_ , but it got them _away_. What was important right now was getting Prowl to safety. They would worry about how to deal with Nolan later, but the first priority was getting Prowl to somewhere the commander could not find him. And flushing the drugs out of his system.

"I know you can't understand me, but _please_. Just drink a little and you'll feel so much better. Fighting us isn't getting you anywhere."

Unsurprisingly, his appeal went unheard.


	45. Part 9: Falling, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 5 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: fall-out from chapter 4, possible squick in the last segment depending on how you interpret what they find (they're not sure)

The clanging of a dropped tool and the sound of someone swearing brought him online and he gave very serious consideration to offlining his audials and re-actioning his charging protocols rather than be awake. His body was aching, his systems were drained, and his processors were stalled. Residual effects of the drugs Nolan had used, apparently because the counteragent had not been applied in time. None of them were qualified to make any better diagnosis, and it sounded reasonable, but the explanation was little comfort.

Those drugs must also be the reason that he could remember almost nothing of the attack itself. Either that or he had suffered some kind of memory fritz under stress. He recalled being very tired, and Nolan offering him a drink... and then panic and pain... and then waking. Beyond that, there was very little else.

Somehow, not remembering just made things worse.

Sighing, he onlined his optics and sat up to stare at a craggy rock wall. When he had first come online out of the drug haze he had just been so relieved to be in friendly company that he had not questioned where they were or how he had gotten here. No, it had taken several awakenings before that thought had crossed his processor. When he did finally ask they were cagey about answering and he had had to persist before they relented.

The fact was, they did not _know_ where they were. In desperation they had simply fled the base in a straight line, putting the ship on autopilot while they tried to sort him out. That task had taken both of them to accomplish and they had been distracted, and then suddenly they were crashing on this lump of barren rock.

The thin helium-based atmosphere and lack of organic growth or moisture was not a concern. A relief even, since there was nothing to corrode their armour. They were close enough to the nearest star to pick up a good dose of radiation on a regular basis which kept them fairly well charged, and apart from his own specific health issues they were all in good condition.

On the down side, this small planet had very little in the way of useful mineral or metal resources, and their ship was damaged. The radiation could keep them functioning but would not quickly replace the fuel lost when the shuttle's tank was torn open on landing. They did not know where they were, and no-one else did either, and apart from their personal weapons they were utterly defenceless.

They also had no method of communication - the shuttle's systems were damaged, though hopefully not beyond repair - and they dared not use a distress beacon. Such things more often attracted Decepticon attention than actual rescuers. They were doing what they could to repair the damage, hoping to at least get back up into space and drift until they could identify where they were, but there was another complication.

He raised one hand to rub absently at his chest above where his spark chamber rested. Nolan had not just violated him, he had raped him. The thought made him feel ill, and indeed he had purged his tank several times already over that thought, wasting precious energon reserves.

The pulsing pain from his spark made him queasy all by itself, reminding him with relentless constancy of the potential outcome. Why had he never even thought that he might be a carrier himself? Should he know that about himself?

For the love of Primus, he was _bonded_. A bonded mech _never_ exposed his spark to anyone other than his bondmate, with the possible exception of a medic. He should have been able to find a way to fight back. He should never have accepted that first drink. The twins had been right all along; he should have resisted from the start, he should have confessed to Optimus and called Nolan's bluff.

Or even allowed them to handle Nolan themselves.

He shook off those futile thoughts, rising stiffly and heading out of the cave they were using as a temporary defensive base. There was work to be done on the navigational computer and it was a soothing distraction.

What mattered was that he was alive. He had survived this ordeal and Nolan could not reach him now, and there was simply nothing that could be done about anything else until they found their way to a medic.

It would work out.

He just wished it would happen faster.

* * *

The repairs had been done as far as possible with limited tools and supplies, meaning they would have to fly manually, but they still needed fuel. An emergency survival kit produced a simple contraption to collect radiation and convert it to useable fuel, but it was an agonisingly slow process, And with less to do to fill the time it had become harder to ignore their other large problem.

Today Sideswipe had had enough. He had to say something.

"You shouldn't still be hurting like this."

Prowl, slumped against a boulder where he could get the most benefit from the sun's rays with a minimum of movement throughout the short light cycle, tilted his head tiredly towards him.

"You've said that before. Have you had any new thoughts about why I am?"

Sideswipe looked at his hands.

"Maybe you've sparked? It happened all the time in the Kaon slums. There were lots of sparkmate pairs, but they could only get a frame with permission - no-one down there could afford to commission one themselves, so they needed a patron to do it for them. Didn't stop them fooling around, though, and sometimes they went further than they meant to. But... But it still doesn't make sense, does it? The newsparks didn't _hurt_ them."

Prowl remained silent, and Sideswipe grimaced. He was not sure what he wanted the tactician to do about this.

It was not like Prowl had wanted any of this, and there were no medics on hand to consult - they only had each other. But it was weird, and both he and Sunny were starting to worry about what else might have happened that they did not know about. He was still so lethargic and stiff, and it had been thirteen orns now. All the drug effects should be long gone, and so should the newspark - if one had even formed in the first place, which they could not be sure of. Prowl said he did not know if he was even a carrier.

Still, if he wasn't, then why had Nolan even tried such a thing?

"Sideswipe?"

"Yeah?"

Prowl's optics were dimmed, looking away towards the horizon, and his tone was as controlled as ever.

"Assuming that a spark has indeed formed, when should it be extracted?"

Proof, there, that Prowl had been of the upperclass as Sideswipe had long suspected. That lot had always shunned made sparks, always going to Vector Sigma. They said they were unnatural, creations of Unicron rather than Primus.

Sideswipe had always been of the opinion that they only said that because they were jealous that the masses had found a way around the traditions that limited their own access to sparklings.

"The medics usually do it after three orns." he answered casually, then frowned.

Three. Not thirteen.

"And if they do not?" Prowl prompted.

"I... dunno. Sometimes it was longer. Mostly though the newsparks just dissolved if they weren't extracted. It still doesn't make sense, though. It shouldn't _hurt_."

He snapped his mouth shut on the rest of that complaint. Insisting that it should not be this way did nothing to change the fact that it _was_. Something was very wrong, and he could not figure out what it could be.

Prowl stirred after a long moment, shifting to make the most of the remaining sunlight.

"It seems we have only one option open to us." the tactician mused, settling himself again stiffly.

"What's that?"

"We must determine firstly whether a newspark has formed, to know if it might be causing complications. And if this has in fact occurred, you and Sunstreaker will have to perform the extraction."

* * *

"No. Slagging. Way."

"Sunny, just listen..."

"No!"

Prowl sighed to himself, staring out at the horizon where the sun would soon rise again, wondering if the twins had any idea that their voices were echoing up to here so very clearly. They had gone all the way down into the valley to talk - to argue, really - but the acoustics of the area nullified their efforts at privacy.

"Well we've got to do _something_."

"It'll sort itself out. We just have to wait."

"For what? There's something _wrong_ , Sunny, and you know it. Remember when Thinstripe missed his appointment with the medic that time because he'd been drugging himself up and things went weird? What if Nolan gave him something we don't know about? Something that's stopping him from absorbing it again? It'll just keep growing and taking and he'll _die_!"

"Shut _up_!"

"I _can't_."

"Don't you remember when Opelia tried it? She'd carried dozens of sparks, she knew what she was doing and Stonecore had been right with her every time, but when they tried to do it without a medic he _killed_ her."

Prowl flinched and turned his internal comm speakers on to mask the words with static. He did not want to think about how this could go wrong. All he knew about extractions was that it was a very bad idea to do anything at all without a medic on hand. But he had no choice.

The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed that his spark had rejected the intrusion of foreign energy. Quite beyond the trauma of the rape itself, the bond had tried to protect him from the violation and had made things worse. It was the only answer that made any sense. But it did little to help him now.

Either his spark had been damaged by the attack, or a newspark had formed but was now unable to reintegrate with him because of the bond. The former might repair itself over time, the latter would most likely kill him if left untended.

He was so very tired, and the thought that he might have an unwanted sparkling growing in his chest made him want to tear at his own armour to get rid of it.

If, _if_ , he were capable of carrying a spark, he wanted it to be Jazz's. Not Nolan's. He needed to know. To know if this pain was just an echo of the attack he could not recall, or whether there was something there. And if there was, he wanted it gone.

He understood the risks that frightened the twins so. If there was a sparkling there, their amateur attempts to extract it might kill him. Well if it must be so, it must.

More than ever he wished Jazz were here with him to help him, to hold him, to protect him. But since he was not, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would have to be enough.

* * *

"I've never witnessed an extraction." Prowl admitted, doorwings twitching, when they returned to give him their agreement. "Is there anything I should do to prepare?"

/Do we tell him that the medics usually drug the host out of their processor?/ Sideswipe fretted.

/No./ Sunstreaker replied firmly. /We don't have anything to give him, so that would just be cruel. Unless... Have you still got...?/

/Oh yeah!/

"Here, drink this." Sideswipe offered, unsubspacing three cubes.

Prowl eyed them distastefully.

"High grade? Are you sure that's necessary?"

"Yup?"

"I've... don't overcharge." Prowl pointed out clumsily as though changing his words mid-sentence. "Ever."

"Well now's a good time to start." Sunstreaker told him, putting a cube in his hands. "Drink."

Prowl stared at the cube unhappily for a long moment before sipping at it cautiously.

"It tastes awful." he grimaced. "And it's making my sensors buzz just from the fumes."

"Drink it. All of it."

"No."

"If you won't, we can always forcefeed you through the backup tube, but that'll be worse." Sideswipe warned.

Prowl gave him a scandalised look, then frowned back down at the cube, gathered his courage and drank it all in one go.

"Th-there." he stammered, swaying dizzily. "Done."

"Nope. At least one more."

"You're... t-rying to p-p- oison me."

"We're just trying to help." Sunstreaker refuted.

Prowl groaned, rubbing at his face, then put a hand out.

"Gimme the next."

"Maybe you should lie down first." Sideswipe suggested. "And, uh, open up. Just so we're all ready."

It was frankly obscene the way Prowl just complied to that instruction without protest. His armour slid away, spark chamber moving closer to the surface as parts rearranged themselves.

Sideswipe shifted uneasily, realising he was more embarrassed by all this than Prowl was.

The only other spark chamber he had ever viewed was his brother's. If the battle damage extended this deeply, the medics always performed their surgery behind closed doors for propriety's sake, and during extractions often only the medics were present. Sometimes not even the carrier's partner was permitted to stay. Yet here Prowl did not hesitate to expose his most intimate parts to them.

It was a humbling show of trust.

Then, before he could get over that gesture and its implications, the chamber opened.

Reflexively Sideswipe looked away, aware that Sunstreaker was doing the same. It was just not right.

"Well?" Prowl asked thickly.

Embarrassed, Sideswipe turned his head back towards him and slowly raised his optics.

The golden orb within the chamber was streaked with darker patches, the outer aura made up of ragged tendrils wavering slightly.

/Is that normal?/ he asked his brother anxiously.

/Is what normal?/

/Look and see!/

Sunstreaker glared at him, then reluctantly did so.

/It looks... damaged./

/I know. But is that what a newspark looks like?/

/I don't think so. It should be a separate sphere. But.../

/But what?/

/Well maybe that's what it looks like when it's reabsorbing?/

"Doesn't look like there's a sparkling." Sideswipe said finally.

"Oh." Prowl slurred, closing up his chest armour again.

Sunstreaker snatched up the remaining cube of high grade and stomped away, embarrassed, and Sideswipe considered following him but then saw tears dripping down Prowl's cheeks.

"Hey, you okay? You didn't... you didn't _want_ the sparkling, right?" he asked nervously.

"It would've been an answer." Prowl mumbled. "Something fixable."

Sideswipe winced.

"It's better that there isn't though. We might've killed you."

Prowl didn't answer, tears still dripping silently, and Sideswipe reached out to hug him but Prowl pushed him away, rolling awkwardly onto his side with one doorwing trapped under himself.

"Go away, Sideswipe."

"Okay. But we're here for you. Whatever happens, okay?"

"Yeah." Sunstreaker added gruffly. "You're stuck with us now. My idiot brother has adopted you."

"Well we need an older brother to watch out for us, right?"

For some reason that made Prowl cry more, and Sunstreaker clipped him across the helm.

"Idiot - that only makes him feel worse. Who'd want _you_ for a brother?"

"You?"

"Ha!"

As they bickered they settled on either side of Prowl. They could at least keep him company. And after awhile his tears stopped and he charged.


	46. Part 9: Falling, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9, chapter 6 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: depression/thoughts of suicide

"Two hundred and fifty."

The words, unexpectedly echoing his thoughts, jolted Prowl out of his reverie.

"What did you say?"

The twins looked at him, then at each other.

"The fuel reading." Sunstreaker clarified. "You said we needed a minimum of two-sixty, right? It's at two- fifty."

"Oh."

Sideswipe sat down beside him, swinging his legs idly over the cliff edge.

"You okay? You've been kinda spacy today."

"Just thinking." Prowl tried to dismiss the question, but they knew him too well now.

"About what?"

Decades of working together had made them friends, but just a couple of vorns being stuck here on this nowhere planet had helped them understand each other.

"It's been one point nine seven vorns since we left Plutes-1."

"And?"

And I'm finally legal, he wanted to shout. I'm legally able to fight as an Autobot soldier. I'm finally _legally_ able to choose to be with Jazz. Not to bond under the current military rules but at least to have him, to hold him publicly. To be held by him.

"On the draft schedule, we would be arriving back at the _Escaphalion_ , today." he hedged.

The schedule was not that detailed, although the dates would have been close. In indulgent moments he had dared fantasise of arriving back at the _Escaphalion_ on this orn to find Jazz already there in his quarters, and then...

The erotic detail of that fantasy had lost a good deal of its appeal since Nolan's attack, regardless of the fact that he recalled almost no detail of that violation. In fact, since he could remember so little he fretted occasionally that the memories would resurface at inappropriate times in the future.

In any case, right now he would settle quite happily for Jazz's arms around him.

"You're missing Jazz." Sunstreaker grunted, sitting on his other side.

The statement caught him off-guard, and it was a moment before he could respond.

"Am I that obvious?"

"To us? Yeah." Sideswipe nodded. "To everyone else, I bet you're the same ol'Prowl."

"Hardly that." he murmured, rubbing at his chest absently.

It still hurt, even all this time later. The pain had diminished to a dull ache, but it had never really gone away completely. Perhaps with more time it would but he suspected that this would be a long-term price he was left to pay. A high price for lessons he should have learned long ago: not everyone had the same motives, not everyone could be trusted, not every reaction could be logically predicted.

For awhile he had tried to keep the pain a secret, tried to bluff, but they were in too close proximity for such lies so he had given in.

The twins now knew him far better than Jazz did, he mused sadly.

Even as he thought that Sideswipe wrapped his arms around him, unknowingly proving that truth.

"He'll wait for you." he promised him. "I know he will. You've waited for him, after all."

"And if he hasn't, we'll haul his glitching aft back and make him apologise until you're satisfied." Sunstreaker added. "Which should take, what, a hundred vorns?"

"Two." Sideswipe chipped in.

"Two fifty." Prowl murmured.

They liked that idea, misunderstanding why he had selected that figure, and he let them play with the idea as his gaze focused on the damaged shuttle far below. Had that been movement he had seen down there?

"You know, I'm going to miss this place when we go." Sideswipe announced, getting up and meandering about aimlessly. "We should give it a name, so that it's not just 'that place we crashed'. Ideas?"

"Stupid Barren Rock?"

"How about Paradise VI?"

"Why six?"

"Well isn't there a five somewhere out in the Gurni sector?"

"Wasn't it actually a nice place to be, though? Not like this place, falling apart and not worth scrap."

"Well what would _you_ call it then?"

"Ironhide." Prowl breathed, rising slowly.

"What?" Sideswipe asked blankly. "Didn't know you had it in you to be that mean. I mean he's old, sure, but he's not..."

" _Ironhide_!" Prowl called, pitching his voice towards the canyon.

And then there was the wonderful feeling of a comm signal connecting to them as a red figure emerged from amongst the rocks far below.

~Bout time we found you. Fraggers've had us searching all over the sector!~

* * *

"It's good to see you. All of you." Prime told them, taking the time to grip each of them by the hand.

"I'm somewhat surprised you managed to find us at all, sir." Prowl pointed out. "Given how far out we were."

"We were fairly sure you were still out here somewhere." Broadcast told him. "The Decepticons would have made a point of announcing it if they'd captured you - you were their main target. Based on the comm traffic we intercepted, Megatron wasn't happy you had escaped. Making things worse, the soldiers had gotten a bit excitable and killed Ultra Nolan before Megatron's interrogators could get there so they were not even able to identify why you had gone, or where."

Sideswipe felt a little surge of vindication from his brother and was in complete accordance.

It turned out that shortly after they had fled, the Decepticons had attacked the base. The surviving records showed Viperon had been in acting command and Nolan had been in the brig, though did not explain why. Whatever the reason, no-one had been at their duty posts when the Decepticons had arrived and three troop ships had landed before the first alarms were activated. Most of the crew had been killed; a few had been taken as breeders.

No-one had done so much as send off a distress signal.

By the time Ironhide's team arrived to find out why there had been none of the regular reports there was nothing to find but corpses and destruction.

"Had we known the Decepticons intentions, we would have stayed to assist in the fortifictions." Prowl assured them, appalled.

Optimus waved a hand dismissively.

"No-one doubts that, Prowl. I know you too well to believe you would have fled without putting up a fight. In any case, once we found the log of you leaving we were able to extrapolate your flight path, although the wormhole you glanced off gave us some trouble."

"So _that's_ why we crashed." Sideswipe blurted.

"I _told_ you it wasn't my navigation."

"Well you're still the one who set us on a course for a wormhole!"

"Enough." Prowl ordered quietly, and they subsided.

The expressions on the faces of the others present was priceless.

"You've tamed the twins!" Ironhide gasped.

"Only temporarily, I'm sure." Prowl replied drily, then turned back to Optimus. "I am greatly indebted to them for their assistance."

"Indeed?"

"They have been loyal beyond requirement."

Prime looked at him curiously, but Prowl simply met his gaze evenly and the commander finally nodded.

"I'll be interested in reading your report. For now, we should be off. We're expected at Ovacalix in ten orns. Autobots - roll out."

* * *

"What do you want, Sideswipe?" Ratchet demanded, folding his arms and staring at the frontliner.

Sideswipe jumped, having thought he had not been spotted yet. Should he really be doing this? Prowl had asked them not to tell anyone what Nolan had done - asked, not ordered - and they had stayed silent when Prime asked. But surely a medic needed to know?

All three of them had been ordered to have a full examination: standard practice after a crash. But Prowl had been so stubborn in pretending that there was nothing wrong at all even though all three of them knew it wasn't true, and something in the way he had reacted when the subject had come up made Sideswipe wonder if he would find an excuse to avoid a scan that might reveal what he wanted to hide.

"Has... uh... Prowl been by?"

"A groon ago, as scheduled. He is about the only one who ever _is_ on time. Why?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if he was okay."

"Why would he not be?"

"Just... I thought he mightn't be." Sideswipe finished lamely, heading for the door. "Never mind, I must've imagined it."

If a full exam had been done and they had found nothing maybe Prowl was right. Maybe whatever had caused the pain had solved itself. It was reassuring to know that he had not done anything stupid like avoiding the medics.

Relieved, he shucked the last of his concerns and headed off to catch up with some friends. Life was back to normal. Well, at least as normal as the war allowed it to be.

* * *

"What are you working on so late?" Wheeljack asked, entering the office and moving around the desk to peer over Ratchet's shoulder. "I thought you said you were having an early night tonight."

"I'll just be a few more clicks." Ratchet promised, distractedly flicking through several files.

Wheeljack watched for a moment, then repeated his question.

"What's got your attention - that all looks normal from what I can see."

"Exactly." Ratchet huffed, shoving his chair back from the desk and glaring at it. "It looks _entirely_ normal."

"So why do you think it isn't?"

"Because _Sideswipe_ took the time to ask if I'd noticed anything wrong."

"These are his scans? Or Sunstreaker's? The values don't look right..."

"No, they're Prowl's."

"Oh. Well, there's a deviation there..."

Ratchet snorted softly, stretching.

"Jack, why don't you leave this to an expert? That deviation's perfectly normal for his specifications. All of it is. He's a bit underfuelled, and I knocked a few dents out of his plating, but apart from that he's in good condition."

"So maybe it was just a Sideswipe prank?" Wheeljack offered.

"I suppose." Ratchet frowned at the screen for a click longer, then growled and turned it off. "Well whatever he's after, he's not getting it. Prowl's fine, and I've got better things to do."

"Sure have." Wheeljack agreed, but noted that the frown remained.

Somehow he thought Prowl would be getting some very focused attention the next time the mech crossed the threshold into the medbay.

* * *

_Epilogue_

"Something happened." Prime mused, joining Prowl on the sofa at one end of the reception room in his private suite. "Something more than you have reported officially."

Prowl had been in here before, though not often. It always bemused him to see that the Prime's quarters were no larger than his own, and yet they were decorated so differently that it felt like being on a different ship entirely. The walls here were covered in an eclectic mix of high art and image captures and street sketches that made the optical systems ache just trying to make sense of them.

He always saw something new in the images there, and today he was transfixed by an image of a dying femme reaching in the direction of the photographer, her body mangled beyond repair. He had seen that image before, but now his gaze was drawn to a detail he had previously overlooked: streaks of purple paint left on her pale yellow chassis.

Hardly likely to be battle damage.

"I would prefer not to discuss it." he responded quietly, turning away from the disturbing sight.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have been curiously silent beyond stating that they back whatever you have already said." Optimus continued, handing him a small cube of energon. "Unusual, given how vocal they generally are."

Plain, military-issue mid-grade. Such a luxury after the time spent on the rock; such a hardship after the delicacies available on Nolan's base.

"Sideswipe did make one comment, however." Optimus continued evenly. "To the effect that Nolan should count himself lucky that the Decepticons got to him before he and his brother did."

The taste was so dull. It restored his energy levels, but he could not say he enjoyed it. Little wonder mechs kept trying to make their own mixes in spite of the high dangers of poisoning and explosion. They had all lost so very much through necessity.

"I have heard rumours that some of the more distant units have become swayed from the cause. That in fact some units have become Neutral in all but name. I am told that when that happens, some mechs choose to misuse the authority they have been given through their rank. Was that the case with Ultra Nolan?"

Prowl's gaze drifted back to the image of the femme. What had happened next? The soldier who had found her must have known he could not save her. Even if he had been a medic, her legs and lower torso were gone and her helm had a hole as large as a fist in her right temple. Perhaps caused by a fist.

"I am concerned, Prowl. I am concerned that something has occurred that has hurt you and that Nolan was at the core of it."

Prowl shuttered his optics briefly.

"If you order me to tell you, sir, I will." he said softly. "If you insist on an answer, I will be compelled to give one. But in all honesty, you do not have the luxury of dwelling on this."

"Luxury?" Optimus echoed, a touch of indignance in his tone.

Prowl looked at his leader directly.

"Knowing the details of this... fiasco... helps no-one. Will it help to know the details of how Nolan attempted to stall our plans at every turn? Will it help to know how petty some of the resistance was? None of this changes the fact that Nolan was an Autobot and died in Decepticon hands, nor that the mechs in his command have been slaughtered or abducted.

"It is true that they should have been more prepared, and that is my failing more than Nolan's in that I permitted the details to interfere with what I knew needed to be done. Had I held firm perhaps it would have been enough to save some of those lives, and that is a lesson I am trying to learn from.

"But the details? Prime, if I believed it would go any way towards preventing another such failure, I would unhesitatingly report every one of those details, regardless of the personal nature of many of them." He stopped, then set his energon down. "The twins are trying to protect my dignity, what little of that there is left, and I am humbled by that show of loyalty. But all of this is simply an aside to the main event.

"I was sent to the Plutes sector to openly investigate a potential safe haven where Neutrals could hide from the enemy. It was to be a decoy from the real plan, and to that extent it was a success. We diverted attention, allowing you to retrieve the femmes and carriers and bondpairs and get them to safety under the protection of Ultra Fortex and Ultra Valori at Luciana.

"The loss of life at Plutes-1 had many causes, but as the ranking officer present it was ultimately my responsibility. All that remains is for you to determine how I should be censured. And to that end, the details of what occurred between Ultra Nolan and myself are irrelevant."

Perhaps the soldier would have tried to help her, tried to carry her to a medic or do some field repairs. Perhaps he had just walked onwards: many battlefields were strewn with the dying, and snipers took advantage of that to pick off anyone who paused to help, so soldiers learned fast not to take risks unless they knew for certain the area was cleared.

Or perhaps he had shot her through the spark and ended her misery. A few vorns ago, he would have thought little of that unpleasant necessity. Now it sounded like a merciful release.

"You speak of relevance." Optimus mused. "And indeed, you are right my friend. This war forces us into expediency when we may wish to be compassionate. So I will ask you only this: are you able to continue in your role as my senior tactician?"

Merciful death. He had thought a lot about suicide in those long orns after the rape, and at times had become nearly convinced that Jazz would forgive him that indulgence. For the first time he truly understood Jazz's previously incomprehensible black moods. Only the presence of the twins had stayed his hand. That and his duty. The knowledge that if he took his own life, Optimus would have no-one to turn to, and the Autobot cause might fail. Taking his own life was selfish; allowing the death of others through his own inaction would be murder.

He had a job to do, and he could do it. Nolan could not take that from him.

"Yes. I am ready to serve to the best of my ability."

"Then there is nothing more to discuss. Welcome back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 9.
> 
> A/N: Ratchet's "full" examination would be a physical investigation, he has no reason to think to scan Prowl's spark. Thus he finds nothing. Yet.


	47. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 1 of 6

After the disaster in the Plutes sector Prowl had wondered how long those events would haunt him. The answer, it turned out, was not long at all.

Carefully conducted research showed that if memories were suppressed they were likely to return when he attempted to recharge or in similar situations, but nothing bothered him. There were no memory loops, no flashbacks, no flares of panic. He tried a few times to force the matter, attempting to recall the details, and once even asking Sideswipe to tell him what he had seen - which the frontliner flatly refused to do - but still there was nothing more than the dismaying sense that he had somehow allowed what had happened.

Even the ache from his spark dissipated eventually. The first time he had to report to the medics he had been nervous about what they might find, but nothing was said. And if Ratchet did call him in several times for what seemed like spurious reasons, the CMO certainly never gave any indication he knew what had happened.

So it was easy to ignore it all, to focus forward and ignore the rest, and there was certainly plenty to focus on.

Following the successful evacuation of carriers to Luciana the Decepticons were fully active once again, striking at Autobot targets with frightening numbers and with dismaying success. The tactical hub was busy at all joors of the orn, Smokescreen, Trailbreaker and Spangle now each joined by their own set of subordinates, and Prowl had moved across the corridor into a separate office for a little peace.

Not that there was much peace to be found. Between the problems of the fleet, the outposts and the _Escaphalion_ 's crew, there was simply never enough time to keep up with everything.

Prowl's solution had been simple, if rather unpopular with his staff: work harder and handle more than one issue at once, and he led by example.

Passing the newly adjusted plans to the waiting ensign to return to Trailbreaker, he returned his attention to the conversation that had been interrupted four times already without bothering to stop filing the latest battlefield data. Another rout, but at least no lives lost this time.

"Can we mitigate the shortages by substituting other materials?"

"We can probably make do with duratonium for awhile." Hoist said doubtfully. "It depends on who gets hurt and what parts the construction team want us to fabricate."

Hoist remained Safestore's subordinate, but over the vorns Prowl had come to rely on him to provide timely and accurate information about supply shortages. Safestore's reports arrived via Ratchet, creating layers of bureaucracy that Prowl would prefer to avoid. Thankfully Ratchet was content to leave things as they were and Safestore had made it plain that he had only ever been responsible for tech supplies and ordnance; everything else could sort itself out.

Prowl frowned faintly, making a mental note to talk to the CMO about his subordinate's lax attitude, then responded to Hoist's assessment.

"Assuming no major repairs are needed in the next..." he paused to check against the planned missions, "three orns?"

"Then we're probably okay until we get back to Ovacalix. But we're also running out of xenon which we need to synthesise energon."

"I understood you were experimenting with a different mix?"

"We are, but it's very unpopular." Hoist grumbled. "The magnesium base makes it bitter and leaves a gritty residue in the mouth and tank. Besides the magnesium often binds with the other elements and destabilises the mix. If we have to substitute for xenon we should change the whole process and use..."

"One moment, please." Prowl interrupted as a figure was seen in the hallway. "Sideswipe. Front and centre."

The toughline heaved a dramatic sigh and slunk into the room.

"Yeah, boss?"

"You were four breems late on duty today."

"I had to..."

"And you did not complete the rostered tasks as ordered."

"There were too many interr..."

"Unless you wish to spend some more time contemplating the walls of the brig, I suggest you are on time to your shift tomorrow. Understood?"

Sideswipe sighed again.

"Sure. Can I go now?"

"Certainly you may go. Specifically, you may go and dismantle that illegal high-grade refiner you have hidden in the storage closet on the fifth level and return the parts to the quartermaster then present Hoist with the recipes you were experimenting with. I will be inspecting that level in two groons and I don't need to tell you what will happen if I find it. Dismissed."

Satisfied, he turned back to Hoist.

"Please continue."

Everything was under control. Why anyone thought otherwise was beyond him.

* * *

"It's your move."

"Yeah, but anywhere I go, you're gonna annihilate me."

Prowl smiled at him, an expression he rarely permitted to cross his face when on duty.

"You're finally getting better at this if you can see that already. There are a couple of possible solutions - do you want to keep going, or start over?"

"Start over. I just don't get how I can start with five times the number of pieces you have and _still_ can't beat you. Just once! Are you _sure_ you don't use your tac-comp for this?"

"It's switched off. Otherwise you would be finished within a breem of starting."

"Oh yeah?" Sideswipe challenged. "Show me."

Prowl shook his head, amused, and began resetting the board but was interrupted by the door chime.

Sideswipe sat back in his chair as Prowl rose to answer it.

The interruptions were common; they never got through more than a groon at a time without a report being delivered or someone causing trouble or an urgent meeting being called. It had become so common that they now played in the the charging room where Prowl could leave the board set up between sessions. Frequently they did not get to continue for orns.

Stretching, he wondered idly what his twin was doing. As soon as they had gotten back on board the _Escaphalion_ Sunstreaker had started avoiding Prowl, preferring to do his own thing. Typical of him, but a bit disappointing. There had been something nice about how they had gotten along together while stuck on that barren rock and it was a shame to let it disappear again.

Anyway, Sunny had been spending increasing amounts of time with a new lover. Who it was, Sideswipe had not yet been able to get him to say, but probably someone pretty. That narcissistic mech Tracks was back on board but he doubted it was him. Sunny had better taste than that.

He heard the door open and reached out to finish resetting the board, then leapt to his feet as he heard a clash of metal and sounds of fighting. Whipping out his rifle he charged to the doorway then stopped in shock as he took in the scene.

Prowl was not fighting with an enemy, though he had been pinned to the closed door with a great deal of force and he was certainly leaving dents and scratches in the other mech's finish.

"Jazz?" Sideswipe whispered, not quite believing what he was seeing.

Neither of them seemed aware that he was there, hands moving frantically, mouths alternating between desperate kisses and passionate whispers.

"...missed you... Primus, feels so good... there, more _there_... can't believe... been so long... _more_..."

Prowl's vocaliser crackled with static as Jazz shifted his position and Sideswipe realised belatedly that they were already intimately connected. It had only been clicks, but they were fast approaching a powerful overload.

Unable to slip out quietly given that they were blocking the only exit, he took a step backwards to at least give them a little more privacy. But then his optics landed on the berth. Sure they were out there right now, but this was certainly their next destination.

Feeling a bit grumpy at the awkward position they had put him in, he tried to listen without listening _too_ closely in order to figure out when they could be interrupted.

An extraordinary length of time went by with only grunts and moans and the sizzle-crackle of overcharge - how in the name of Primus were they sustaining it for so _long_? - before the noises quietened and Prowl gave a sated sigh.

"Can't believe you're really here."

"I'm here, I'm here." Jazz murmured. "An' you're even more beautiful than I remembered."

"You've been gone so long..."

"I was wit'ya, Sparkles. Jus' not in person, tha's all."

"It wasn't enough."

"True, dat. Missed yer party too, di'nt I?"

What party? Sideswipe wondered, hesitating in the hope of learning more.

"It doesn't matter."

"Does to me. I had plans t'ravish ya."

"You don't need an excuse for that."

On second thought perhaps he should not take the risk of delaying and letting them get started again. He stepped out into the antechamber averting his gaze as much as he could while figuring out where they were.

They were on the floor now, Prowl curled up in Jazz's lap, doorwings held down and back on an awkward angle so he could wrap his arms around the other mech's waist and rest his cheek on his chest just over his spark. They were both still crackling with excess energy generated by the overload, and the cover plates that usually hid intimate parts were retracted.

"Uh..." he began.

He got no further as Jazz was suddenly moving - on his feet and across the room, and Sideswipe yelped as he felt the heat of an energon blade near one of the vital tubes in his neck. Prowl looked around dazedly from where he had tumbled onto the floor, apparently just as startled as Sideswipe was, but the blade was already moving away.

"Sideswipe." Jazz said coldly. "How did you get in here?"

"He was visiting me." Prowl grimaced, covering himself over and rising to his knees. "I forgot all about him when I saw you."

Jazz's expression was dark and inscrutable and Sideswipe gulped.

"Y'know it's not like I really saw anything since I know you two aren't really together so why don't I just leave and pretend I never even saw you?"

"Don't you want to know where I've been all this time?" Jazz challenged him.

"Uh... not really?"

"He knows, Jazz." Prowl explained, walking slowly across the room. "Remember? He had questions, and I told him you work for Curveball." He stepped up beside Jazz, putting one hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay. He's a friend."

Jazz hung his head, nodding jerkily.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry. It's just... been awhile since I've been 'round friends."

Prowl's fingers tightened a little on Jazz's shoulder plating, and Sideswipe edged to his left.

"So I'll be going then..."

"I've gotta go." Jazz sighed, apparently not hearing him.

"Already?" Prowl asked, sounding hurt.

"Wasn't s'posed t'detour, I haven't reported in yet. CB'll be goin' fritzy by now, but I had t'see ya."

"He'll forgive you. He needs you."

Jazz opened his mouth to say something else, but then focused on Sideswipe who froze in place.

"I gotta go." he repeated, straightening. "You stick to your routine - whatever you were doin'. I'll be in touch when I can."

He turned, his hand rising to caress Prowl's cheek, then he was striding out as if the past two breems had not occurred at all. The door closed behind him and Sideswipe turned to stare at Prowl.

"So." he said finally. "I guess time and distance really _don't_ make a difference when you're in love, huh?"


	48. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 2 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** general unpleasantness including references to Decepticon torture  & rape

Prowl slipped into the briefing room, carefully keeping his reactions neutral.

After Jazz had left he had washed thoroughly and carefully touched up his paint to remove all physical traces of their quick and rather messy liaison. His body and spark were still thrumming with pleasure but he resisted the urge to self-stimulate; there would be time enough for that later if Jazz did have to disappear again, and if he did not then he would rather have the real thing than that poor substitute.

Once again immaculate and outwardly composed, he was nevertheless restless. Sideswipe was long since gone and he doubted he would have had the concentration for games in any case so he had returned early to his office and set about doing some simple filing. It was a soothingly mindless task, allowing his attention to wander and still being useful at the same time. Then, after several groons, a message had come through that he was to attend an urgent meeting with the Prime.

It did not surprise him that there was a meeting called; plans frequently needed to be revised as Curveball's operatives reported in. But those operatives were always kept secret and out of sight so it was something of a shock to find Jazz was there with his supervisor.

Not that he looked at all like the mech Prowl knew so intimately.

The mech sitting next to Curveball was a spindly bronze-coloured mech easily twice Jazz's height. He still had a visor rather than individual optics, but it was a much narrower band of blue and showed two spots of intensity where his 'real' optics were which made it clear this was purely an affectation.

How had they managed that, and so quickly? he wondered as he took his own seat. If it were not for the bond insisting Jazz was present he would never have guessed; as it was, he was having difficulty reconciling what he could see with what he could feel. He wanted desperately to touch and find out whether the plating was real or just a very clever hologram, but of course that would be rude.

Curveball introduced his agent as 'Nox', explaining that that was neither his real name nor his ops name, merely a cover for this meeting. Jazz watched the officers coolly as they were introduced and Prowl braced himself as that gaze passed disinterestedly over him, not wanting to give any hint of recognition away.

The briefing moved on to a short outline of Jazz's mission and now Prowl did pay closer attention, curious about where his lover had been all this time.

It turned out that he had been sent to get himself into one of the breeding facilities and determine if there was a way to stop the constant flood of vicious, poorly-programmed sparklets that kept being thrown onto the battlefield. He was also to investigate a rumour that the Decepticons were working on something more, something worse.

"Which it seems that they are." Prime interrupted heavily. "I have heard the summary of this report. Now I would like to hear the detail, and then for your assistance with my advisors to help determine our next course of action."

Curveball sat down, nodding to Jazz who leaned forward with clear reluctance and began speaking with a startlingly clear Altihexian accent. Well, startling to Prowl who had expected the familiar Kaonic street drawl.

"I certainly have detail if you truly want it, but I assure you that you will all recharge more soundly without it. The situation out there has been unpleasant for quite some time but it has gone well beyond that now. There is no possibility I can keep doing what I do, they're simply not taking in recruits anymore. Of course, they have no need to do so: they produce what they need and kill everyone else."

"You infiltrated a Decepticon unit." Broadcast mused. "As what? A warrior?"

"A regulatory technician. I know my way around those kinds of systems which is a rare and valued skill set these days. Rare enough that they were willing to give me a chance. It still took over fifty vorns to gain access to a factory and they continued to watch me carefully."

"Fifty vorns?" Tripwire queried.

Jazz turned to regard the SIC sitting to his immediate right, the delicate sensory array on his head shifting and clinking together too realistically to be just a hologram.

"That is how this kind of work gets done. You must be prepared to put in the time to get anywhere, and in this case the factories..." He paused unhappily. "They are unpleasant places." he finished with a sigh. "They are staffed mostly by drones who don't care about the conditions, so there is little opportunity to work within them. My mission parameters required me to be within the system, hence the gradual approach."

"And what was your mission?" Broadcast asked.

"To investigate the methods in use at the factories and determine any weaknesses in the security, and to identify any opportunities for us to close them down. Such will be difficult. The breeders themselves are prepared at off-site conversion facilities so that no..."

"Prepared?" Ratchet growled. "How?"

Jazz's visor dimmed noticeably.

"Limbs removed; programming overwritten; spark chamber exposed. The majority are little more than a torso and head with almost no frontal armour at all."

"Those slagging pit- sparked..."

"Rave in your own time, Hatchet." Curveball interrupted him. "We've all heard rumours of that before, this is just confirmation. He's got more to tell us than what we already suspected. Nox?"

"Most are prepared that way, and used to produce what the Decepticons call 'splitters'. They call them that, I understand, because none of them have full sparks. When a spark is extracted it is split six ways, significantly increasing the output of the factories. However, almost fifty percent of the split sparks fade within an orn of extraction, and of the survivors fifteen percent will fade within the first vorn, so the situation is not quite as dire for us as it first appears. The Decepticon response to this is not to study it nor understand it, simply to mitigate for the loss by reducing frame production costs and limiting the programming for splitters. Unfortunately for us, the splitters are not the only product to come out of these facilities."

He shifted in his chair, then pulled a datapad out of subspace and started keying in some commands.

"This new model has yet to go into combat, though they are ready for it. Unlike the splitters they have full programming and high specifications for their frames."

He pressed a final sequence and a holographic image appeared hovering above the table.

"They are known as 'seekers', though I heard no explanation as to why. They are all unpredictable, very violent, very vicious. They are also very loyal to their groupings, and eager for battle. When they come out, they will be devastating."

"So what's the hold up?" Tripwire demanded. "Why aren't they using them already?"

Jazz changed the view on the holograph. It now showed a seeker in what were predominantly Autobot colours - red and white with azure highlights - but with blazing red optics and the unmistakable shape of the Decepticon emblem on his wings.

"This is Starscream - self-proclaimed Decepticon Air Commander, which seems to mean simply that he is in command of the seekers. He is undoubtedly the one who invented them. He provided the design and the original specifications..."

"Invented them?" Prowl interrupted, confused. "But he appears to be one of them himself."

"He is." Jazz nodded, meeting his gaze politely before looking back to Tripwire. "Rumour would have it that that was not always so; that he had his spark transferred into that frame and gave himself a new name. I was unable to uncover any hint as to his original identity, but he has most certainly had formal training at Altihex."

"What makes you believe that?" Broadcast checked.

"This is a mech who found a way to produce fully functional adult sparks from the time of activation without going to Vector Sigma and to bind them together into tight-knit but still breakable groups. What he does is something akin to bonding except with three of them at a time, and when one dies they can simply pull another into the group. As far as I could ascertain his seeker trines don't function at all unless they're in threes, and they are difficult to control even then, but what makes them unique is that it makes no difference to them _which_ other two of their kind they are connected to."

"How?" Prowl demanded, echoed by similar questions from Broadcast and Ratchet.

"I was unable to gather that data." Jazz shook his head. "I know the rudiments of how they are created, but there are details I could not access and I dared not get any closer without giving myself away. What is certain is that they are not from split sparks, only from made sparks.

"The selection process is conducted before the carriers arrive, and they are markedly different than the other arrivals in that they show no evidence of physical harm. They are placed in solitary confinement and they are permitted to eat and charge normally."

He paused momentarily, then continued with a drone-like tone and expression. Prowl noted distantly that his accent remained firmly Altihexian in spite of the flickers of distress that escaped through the bond.

Those caught him by surprise. They had not had much opportunity to test the way the block worked on the bond but thus far physical contact had been required to sense anything at all. How strong were those emotions to be overriding the blocks between them that he could feel something at this distance across the table? he wondered, then lost the thread of that thought as he started to take in what Jazz was saying.

"They are also raped in the traditional way when it's time for them to produce. The splitter breeders are given a dose of aphrodisiacs and are positioned together so they seed each other, but these ones get personal treatment."

Carefully, Prowl rearranged the settings in his processor so that his logic processor had precedence and he could focus on simply collecting the facts. He did not need to be flashing back to Nolan here; he would deal with that later.

"The seekers should not be confused with the splitters in any way." Jazz was continuing. "They are being trained to kill, and the more effective and loyal they are, the more they are rewarded. Starscream has a trine of his own, and his wingmates are two of the worst: Thundercracker and Skywarp. They have been rewarded with weapons that none of the others have."

Two more images joined the first, one with a predominantly black colouration, the other in blue.

"As to why they have not been used in combat thus far, it seems that that is due to continuing arguments between Starscream and Megatron. Megatron wishes to bolster his attacks with them, while Starscream is determined that they must be used in a surprise attack aimed at assassinating Optimus Prime."

"They have such a plan in place?" Prowl demanded, immediately beginning to review all the data he had on recent Decepticon movements.

"No. It was not finalised when I left."

"Then why didn't you stay until you had more information?" Tripwire demanded.

"Because it is simply not that straightforward. Starscream is unpredictable. He despises the Autobots - according to the rumours amongst the soldiers he blames our whole faction for an accident involving a friend of his crashing on some planet vorns ago - and he hates Prime in particular for something that happened back before the war, though I never heard any specific details of what or why. But he hates Megatron equally and makes no secret of the fact. The only mystery is why the warlord continues to keep him nearby at all. Starscream is just as likely to attack Megatron as he is to attack any of us and he has made several attempts that I've heard of. Likely there are others I did not hear of, also."

"You _saw_ both Starscream and Megatron?" Prime asked thoughtfully. "They visit these facilities?"

Jazz looked to Curveball, seeking permission, and the CSO took over.

"Nox worked at several of the factories, but eventually gained access to the one at Darkmount, Megatron's stronghold."

Prowl's fingers tightened on his datapad at the thought of the danger Jazz must have been in. Another fact to set aside for later consideration. He double-checked that his logic centre had full control and consciously loosened his grip before he cracked the screen.

"If he was that close, why didn't you just kill him?" Ratchet was grumbling as he returned his attention to the discussion.

"I doubt it's that simple." Tripwire mused.

"It certainly is not." Jazz agreed. "His third, Soundwave, is a telepath. Megatron never goes anywhere without him, even within the base."

"I know Soundwave." Broadcast spat. "But he's his second, not his third."

"He was until Starscream came along but now he's been demoted. Officially Starscream is Megatron's chosen successor. I have made copies of some of his battle plans and they seem frighteningly effective to my untrained optic."

"There have been no changes in their tactics to date." Prowl pointed out, keeping his gaze locked on his datapad.

"That is because Megatron doesn't trust him. He acknowledges that the plans are good, but he is certain Starscream is plotting to take over from him and so he won't use them. Thus far everything has fallen into the same repetitive and predictable cycle. Starscream presents a viable plan, Megatron turns it down, Starscream publicly argues his case, Megatron loses his temper and punishes him, Starscream begs for forgiveness but isn't convincing, Starscream arrives in the repair bay. Then the whole cycle begins again."

"Repairs?" Ratchet asked.

Jazz nodded grimly.

"If it can be considered a game, it is a very violent one. He has had his wings torn right off more than once that I saw. A few vorns ago he even had his legs completely blown away with a fusion cannon blast. Megatron is very creative when it comes to handling prisoners, and he seems to try it all out on Starscream first."

"Then why does he stay with the Decepticons?" Ratchet asked.

"He despises the Autobots."

"He could go Neutral." Broadcast pointed out.

"Neutral is a poor option for anyone these days. The Decepticons are working on finding them all and killing every one that they find. Even potential carriers are no longer valuable now that their facilities are well organised."

"What did you do to help the ones where you were working?" Optimus asked him, shifting the focus of the discussion.

"There was very little I could do." Jazz replied simply. "To act in any way outside the strictures of my role would have drawn suspicion."

"You slagging coward." Ratchet snarled. "You call yourself an Autobot?"

"Yes. I do, sir." Jazz snapped back, his tone abruptly frosty. "If there was anything I could have done, I would have done it."

"You could've tried."

"Ratchet." Optimus quelled him.

The medic growled but subsided, and Jazz spoke quietly into the gap that followed.

"There was a mech I worked with for awhile: a nasty mech at spark, a loyal Decepticon, one who showed genuine enjoyment for his work. Not particularly bright, but a willing soldier. One orn he accidentally tripped the system out of sequence. It was nothing more than an accident, a lapse of concentration, the kind of mistake anyone could make. Half a dozen others saw it and knew he meant no harm, but none of them spoke up to save him.

"Soundwave's staff interrogated him on and off for half a vorn trying to get him to confess to being an infiltrator, but of course he had nothing to confess and being able to hack his memory core they would not accept placatory lies. Eventually they decided that perhaps it had indeed been a simple mistake and decided upon a punishment, mostly as a warning to the rest of us not to waste their time.

"They stripped him down and set him up as a breeder within the racks. He was not able to carry - his spark was not formed that way - but he suffered through the process twelve times before the supervisor decided he was wasting resources and space and shot him."

There was a brief shocked silence at the story, and Prowl wondered dimly which was worse: the story itself, or the coolly dispassionate way that Jazz was able to report on it.

"Nox's mission was to gather information and get it back to us." Curveball took over eventually. "None of the others we've sent have lasted more than a few vorns, and I've lost more than a dozen agents this way. Nox is the best. If there was something he could've done, he would've."

"Understood." Prime rumbled. "Nox, thank you for your valuable contribution to our cause. Without your work we would be far less prepared. Now if you will please excuse us, I need to speak with my team about our response to this news."

"Of course. Sir?" he asked Curveball, who waved him away.

"Mirage will find you some accommodation. Go and rest, you deserve it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along with _Echoes_ , _The scientist_ should be read now :)


	49. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 3 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more semi-graphic slash

Jazz had already locked the door, but he tested it absently as he checked the work schedules again, berating himself for the redundancy in his actions but needing to be sure.

Nothing had changed: the door was still safely locked and both of his roommates were on duty for the next joor. One joor of no interruptions. Time to rest.

He settled slowly onto his berth, facing the door, backplates flush to the wall, energy dagger concealed in his palm curled under his cheek as he lowered his helm. At the faintest sound, at the first hint of someone opening that door, he would be alert. If the intrusion were innocent he could feign recharge; if it were not, he would be ready to strike.

He knew full well that this was unhealthy, that he should be less stressed by now. Being here amongst other Autobots in this state was downright dangerous. For them. And if something went wrong, it would be messy to sort out.

Of course knowing that and being able to fix it were two completely different things. On the _Ark_ he had had the security of a space all to himself where he was safe and so was everyone else. Here on the _Escaphalion_ , there was no such protected space. The next best solution would be to move in with Hound and Mirage who would at least be aware of the threat but they already had two roommates and it would be awkward to explain why Jazz, the long absent storesmech recently discovered to have been hiding out in the Calyx sector, warranted special treatment. So he had to make do.

He adjusted his grip on the dagger just slightly so he could feel the cool metal of the handle against his cheek. He should really put it away; the likelihood of being attacked here was very low. Still, it was a comforting presence.

This last mission had been the longest by far of any he had ever undertaken other than his role as 'Jazz', but at least as 'Jazz' he knew who he truly was. On that mission, he had been oblivious to the truth. He had built a life in that role, a history that no telepath or hacker could disprove because it was all _real_ to him. Such delusion, the messing about with his own processors, was the reason he was so effective in these roles when he was deployed that way, but it also had its price and this time the price felt too high.

He tilted his head back, gaze drifting up towards the ceiling. The problem was that he had not been unhappy in that role, there had been no reason to be. Being returned to full awareness was jarring and unpleasant, and this time was even worse than other times because this time he had something to miss. Or rather, some _one_. But he hadn't.

He shifted position irritably.

Of course he had not missed Prowl during his mission. How could he, when he did not even remember him? There was no point getting upset about it now. It was just that he had never considered that he might be gone nearly this long. Thirty vorns, sure; maybe fifty at the outside. Not the best part of two centuries. No, he had never considered anything nearly as long as that.

The moment he had come back to himself, turning to see Silencer watching him, the other agent having triggered the release code in spite of the agreement being for Mirage to do it, the very first thing that he had thought of was Prowl. Not his mission, not how he was going to extricate himself, not why things had changed from the original plan that should have recalled him well over a century earlier; just Prowl. And the desperate need to see him.

He scrubbed at his face with his free hand.

This was no-one's fault but his own. He had denied the attraction for so long because of what his job sometimes entailed, and he had tried to express it to Prowl when they had bonded, but none of that changed the fact that he had abandoned his bondmate. He had lived in blissful ignorance while Prowl suffered in his absence. It was precisely the opposite of what he had wanted for the sparkling.

Sparkling. Ha. Sparkling no longer, he was now fully an adult, and Jazz had no idea what he had experienced during that transition. Nor how he felt about his absentee bondmate. These were questions he dreaded the answers to.

All the way back to the flagship he had fretted over how he should approach Prowl. The mech was likely going to be furious with him, and that fury would only build when he finally understood that the worry had been one-sided. He had steeled himself for the argument that was sure to come, wondering all the while how he was going to ensure it happened privately; they could not do this publicly without giving away hints of their relationship, nor would Prowl be likely to want to wait until he was off duty after waiting for so very long already. But in the end it had been a moot point. Jazz had arrived to find that Prowl was in fact already off duty, and so instead of reporting in he had taken the opportunity given and slipped away from the agent assigned to see him to Curveball's office undetected. And then...

He sighed, offlining his optics.

There had been no argument, no questions, not any words at all of any real import. Prowl had opened the door and the rest had been instinctual, an irresistable compulsion to refresh the connection between them through physical contact. He wasn't about to complain about any of that, most definitely not, but it left him with this lingering guilt that he could not shed until they had actually discussed this. Which currently appeared to be impossible because Prowl had not come off duty since the briefing with Prime's senior staff.

Was Prowl avoiding him? It seemed likely. And to be fair, Prowl deserved to be the one to make the first move here, as the aggrieved party. But that assumed that he held Jazz responsible for the long absence, and the only way to even begin to explain that would be to talk to him. Which was not possible until they could meet again.

Growling at himself for wasting time thinking in circles, he tucked his head down again and told himself to charge. But first he checked his roommates' schedules one more time. Just to be sure.

* * *

"Hey, Sides, gotta breem?"

Sideswipe was slightly surprised to see Jazz coming down a side corridor towards him, warm smile on his face. He had seen the other mech around in the last few orns but not to speak to, just across the training room, or in a corridor. Jazz had not seemed particularly interested in talking to him so what had changed now?

"Sure, I just got off-shift. You wanna get some fuel?"

Jazz snorted.

"If you're talkin' that rubbish they're servin' in the rec room, forget it. I'd rather starve. Nah, I just wanted t'talk. Your room?"

"Fair enough."

Sideswipe led the way to his quarters, suspecting that Jazz did not want to share this conversation with anyone else and that meant avoiding the space he had been assigned since his return: he was currently sharing a room with three others.

Almost everyone was sharing quarters with at least two others but so far he and Sunny had managed to retain their own space. He suspected it was partly Prowl's doing, in gratitude for their help and friendship, but he had never asked directly. With the pressure on at the moment it may have to change soon anyway. The _Escaphalion_ was really a little small to be acting as the flagship in the long term.

Stepping through the doorway he wondered if he and Sunny could voluntarily take in Jazz rather than wait to be assigned someone else. The mech would probably be spending most of his time in Prowl's berth anyway, so it was not like he would be much of a burden; besides, rumour had it that Jazz could be a lot of fun and was a real player in the ever-important prank war. He would raise it with Sunny later and then get it done: it would be far better than waiting to be given someone they didn't get to pick.

"Just shove all that stuff on the floor." Sideswipe suggested, gesturing to a chair covered in cleaning materials. "Sunny's kinda obsessive about his finish these days."

Jazz picked up a pile to do so, froze, then walked over to a wall. Clearing a second chair for himself, Sideswipe looked up to see what he was looking at just as Jazz turned to stare piercingly at him.

"Why," he asked slowly, "do you have pictures of Prowl on your wall?"

Sideswipe had answered that question many times, usually claiming it was blackmail material. For Jazz, though, he would be honest.

"He's a good looking mech." he shrugged. "And it irritates Sunny no end that he can get his finish to shine like that without spending groons waxing and buffing himself."

Jazz turned back to examine the images for a long moment and Sideswipe finally broke the uncomfortable silence with a forced laugh.

"Aw come on - they're not even dirty pics. What I _should_ 've done was get one of you two up against his door the other orn. Now _that_ was erotic. Coulda made a fortune flogging them off."

Jazz stirred and finally returned to the chair, although his gaze was still on the images.

"What?" Sideswipe asked, exasperated by the weird behaviour.

"I don't have any pictures of him." Jazz confessed slowly. "Can't risk it in my line of work. Last time I left I even deleted the visual feed on memories of him before I went in case I got hacked."

Sideswipe shuddered at the casual mention of that hideous torture, but also at the idea of what Jazz was suggesting.

"Not everything though, right?"

"Everything." Jazz said distantly. "While I was away, I didn't even know what he looked like. And now I'm here there's never any time to just... look."

"Well for the love of Primus, _have_ them." Sideswipe insisted. "If anyone should be spinning his cogs over him, it's you."

Jazz shook his head, looking away at last, and lips spreading in a slow smile.

"Nah. Can't get caught. Might come in occasionally to spin, though."

"So long as it's just spinning and not jacking off I've got no problems." Sideswipe shrugged. "When you start coming in here to self-service to a static image of your own lover, _that's_ when I'll worry."

Jazz's smile faded and he slumped into the chair.

"Way it is at the moment, I'm just about there. I can't get near him; he's avoidin' me."

"Avoiding you?" Sideswipe asked blankly.

"I guess he's angry at me. I know I was gone a whole lot longer'n I'd planned, but I thought he'd understand that. Wouldn't blame him if he's upset, really, but he's not givin' me a chance t'make it up to him."

Sideswipe thought back through the events of the past few orns since Jazz had returned.

"He's missed you too much to be petty like that. And he sure was happy enough to see you when you got back - no doubt there!"

Jazz shrugged.

"I took him by surprise, is all. I didn't even talk to him, just grabbed him. Shouldn'ta done that."

"Well from what _I_ saw he wasn't complaining." Sideswipe told him. "If you hadn't jumped him first, he wouldn't've let you get far before doing it himself. He's really missed you. Most of the time he doesn't let it show, and only Sunny'n'I know what he's thinking about when he does, but he's been desperate for you to come back. Trust me."

"So why's he avoiding me, then?"

"I'm not sure he is." Sideswipe ventured. "He's just been going through his normal routine, far as I can see."

"Normal routine?" Jazz frowned. "He hasn't been to his quarters to charge since I got back!"

Sideswipe shook his head.

"That's not all that unusual. He naps in his office between meetings when he gets tired, but when there's something on he often goes a deca-orn or more between full chargings. It drives  
Ratchet up the wall, but it doesn't seem to do him any damage and we really do need the plans he comes out with so it just carries on. And your timing's just awful: they're working on something big again. Started about a joor after you got in - you're lucky it didn't start earlier or you wouldn't've seen him yet."

Sideswipe privately had his suspicions that Prowl's current preoccupation was actually due to whatever Jazz had been up to all this time, but the other mech gave nothing away.

"The Cons don't even drive their slaves that hard." Jazz complained. "When does he get to rest? He'll burn himself out if he keeps that up for too long."

"He's been doing it for the best part of a century without any trouble." Sideswipe pointed out. "He lets the others handle the fleet stuff, but he does all Prime's planning personally."

"What about the aides and assistants and juniors? What do they do, if he's doing all the work?"

"He keeps them busy." Sideswipe shrugged. "He just doesn't trust them with the really sensitive stuff, that's all. We had such a mess after Quickquadrant that in the end Prowl told Prime he'd rather just do it himself than deal with more incompetents and potential spies."

Jazz looked so distressed by all this that Sideswipe tried to find some more positive news for him.

"He does take a bit of time for himself when he can. When things aren't so frantic he takes proper breaks and schedules in a joor off-duty every three or four orns. He likes to wash himself down - that's one of his favourite things, I swear he could spend a whole orn in there if he didn't have other things to do - and then... well it depends.

"Sometimes he goes to the gym to keep up his hand to hand skills, or the target range, or the rec room. Other times he just likes to laze around. That's what was happening when you got back - he'd taken some time off, and we were playing Overlord. He always wins, no matter how much I cheat or how much of an advantage he gives me, but it relaxes him."

Jazz had gone pensive, staring at the photos again.

"He's not sharing with anyone." Sideswipe added, suddenly realising what might be upsetting the spy. "I've stayed the odd rest cycle with him sometimes, sure, but it's just been company. He gets lonely sometimes. He missed you."

"I missed him too." Jazz murmured, then sat up straight, turning his back on the images. "Right. That's more than enough maudlin slag for one orn. So what's a mech gotta do t'get some _edible_ energon around here?"

* * *

Prowl opened the door to his quarters, tired but satisfied.

Pushing himself even harder than he usually did he had managed to contrive a whole joor of time for himself in the middle of what were some of the biggest planning sessions since Luciana. Prime wanted the breeding factories targetted and the victims either rescued or euthanised with a minimum of contact with the Autobot troops, and he wanted it done _now_.

He had gone through scenario after scenario and time after time the potential casualty rate had been too high, but he had finally gotten together something workable. Prime was now calling in the commanders who would undertake the various missions. When they arrived Prowl would have to brief them and their staff, but since he had been so efficient in producing the final reports - and in delegating the rest of his duties - he was free until they all arrived at Ovacalix.

Ultra Pluron had the furthest to travel, and Prowl had his ETA counting down in a subroutine in his processor.

Hurrying inside he did not even bother to key on the lights, just going straight through to the wash racks. A full joor. So he would have a quick wash and then find Jazz. He had a feeling his lover would not care if he washed first or not, but he wanted to be clean for him.

Standing under the spray, he reached up to the shelf to find the long handled brush Sideswipe had given him as a gift several vorns ago that was just the perfect size and shape to help him wash his own back and doorwings without needing assistance, then froze as someone touched him from behind.

His mind flashed straight back to Nolan, particularly when the hands slid possessively over his hips, but then he saw the black paint and belatedly realised he was getting strong feedback through the bond to accompany the physical contact.

"Jazz?" he yelped.

Jazz nuzzled him the side of his neck.

"Been waitin' for ya."

"But I didn't call you yet!" Prowl protested.

"Heard a rumour you've been a bit busy." Jazz murmured, moving flush against his back, heedless of the fluid pouring down over them both. "Heard another that this was where you'd go first, when you had time."

Prowl gasped as Jazz's hands slid up his sides and over his headlights, but then forced himself to calm down enough to remove those wandering hands and twist in his arms to face him.

"You've been waiting in here for orns?" he demanded, incredulous.

"Well not the whole time." Jazz smiled at him. "Just when y'didn' have meetings scheduled."

"My schedule is encrypted."

"Like that'd stop _me_ seein' it." Jazz retorted, then seemed to lose some of his confidence. "So. We should pro'ly talk for a bit, catch up on..."

Prowl cut him off by kissing him hard, slamming him up against the back wall of the cubicle.

"Talk later." he declared. "I want _everything_ and I don't even care if someone walks in on us. I'm legal now, and I'm not stopping for _anything_ until I've had your spark merging with mine. Several times."

Jazz's visor darkened to indigo with desire at that stated goal.

"Then lets stop wastin' time an' get started."


	50. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 4 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: reference to Decepticon nastiness

Sideswipe walked into his room and was unsurprised to find Jazz there; aside from the fact that this was now his room as much as theirs, the mech seemed to spend most of his spare time here.

Officially he was on a short vacation from the duty roster due to a lingering medical issue, but Jazz had confessed that it was just a brief break to make up for the fact that he had gone well over a century without ever actually being off duty. So he took the time to pick up old friendships and make new ones, but really he was just waiting for Prowl to take a break.

This time, for once, Jazz was not staring at the photos on the wall. Instead, he was lounging comfortably in a chair, buffing a scratch out of his thigh.

Sideswipe dropped his rifle carelessly on the table and joined him.

"Didn't see you at the card game." he commented.

"I was busy." Jazz shrugged. "Who won?"

"Smokey. I coulda done with the back up."

"Wasn't Sunny there?"

Sideswipe grunted.

"He's jacking Red again."

"Sunny an' Red Alert?" Jazz asked, looking up in amusement. "That's an interestin' combo."

"If by 'interesting' you mean 'insane', then sure." Sideswipe allowed. "Red's a whole mess of neuroses, and Sunny's a homicidal maniac with protective tendencies. I keep waiting to hear that Red's scratched him and had his limbs torn off, or that Sunny's crept up on him being all romantic and gotten his head blown off. They're both just as likely to attack if they get startled, and _everything_ startles Red."

"You're soundin' a bit bitter there, Sides." Jazz commented lightly.

Sideswipe scowled at him. Maybe having the other mech move in had not been such a bright idea after all.

"What's got _you_ in such a good mood all of a sudden?"

Jazz smirked and unsubspaced something that he tossed into Sideswipe's lap.

His jaw dropped as he took in the image of Prowl sitting on his berth with his legs crossed primly at the ankles but not hiding the streaks of lubricant on his thighs, hands behind his head drawing attention to his chestplates that were slightly askew, watching the camera with optics darkened by lust.

"Now _that_ ," Jazz drawled, "is an erotic image."

"What...? But...? How...?" Sideswipe spluttered, staring in shock.

"He took a bit o' convincin' at the start." Jazz mused, returning his attention to the scratch on his thigh. "But when I told him about the ones you already have on the wall an' how you'd been kind enough t'let me sit an' drool over'em when I was feelin' down, he agreed you needed somethin' a bit more stimulatin'. After that it was all his idea."

"Guh..." Sideswipe said unintelligently, still stunned.

"Lotta fun gettin' him to that stage, though. He wanted it posed just right. We got distracted a few times, too."

"Uh-huh."

"He's fond of ya, Sides." Jazz continued thoughtfully. "An' it worries him a bit that you might've fallen for him. He doesn't wanna get your hopes up."

"So he gives me _this_?" Sideswipe screeched, trying and failing to tear his eyes from it.

"He needed t'know. An' I can go back now an' tell him t'stop worryin'."

Sideswipe looked at him flatly, deliberately turning the image over so he could not see it.

"Jazz I'm sitting here just about ready to interface with my _chair_ from looking at that, and you say he shouldn't worry?"

"You're cyclin' up, but you're not jealous." Jazz shrugged. "Wouldn't be nat'ral if you didn't get a bit fritzy from that - you said it yourself, he's easy on the optic feed. But he's _mine_ , Sides. An' he counts you as a friend, so I wanted t'make sure you understood that's _all_ he sees you as."

Sideswipe threw the flexiplas sheet back at him, irritable.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a maniac, Jazz?"

"Plenty o'mechs, an' all the time." Jazz grinned, re-subspacing the picture. "Now. You could get rid o'that charge yourself if you're that way inclined. Or I could help ya out: least I could do, given how I set ya up. But y'know there _is_ a third option. A particular comms mech, maybe?"

Sideswipe scowled. He had heard from others how sly Jazz could be, but this was the first time he had experienced it for himself.

"Oscillate's on duty."

"Yeah, funny thing about that. Turns out there was a schedulin' error. Prowler found it an' fixed it, so now he's got a free shift an' all his roommates're out an' he's already had his charge time. So he's just hangin' around wit' nothin' t'do."

Growling at Jazz's patent amusement, Sideswipe stomped out into the corridor. Sometimes it just did not pay to be too friendly to a special ops mech.

* * *

The door shut behind Sideswipe and Jazz leaned back in the chair, reviewing the conversation and finding himself satisfied with the result.

The bond itself did not preclude other intimate relationships - his undercover roles would be completely shot if it did - but that did not mean he was at all keen on the idea of Prowl sharing his berth with anyone else. Hypocritical, maybe, but true. Thankfully Prowl seemed to be content with that, but had raised concerns about Sideswipe's motives.

Sideswipe had already denied it, of course, and Jazz was very much of the opinion that anyone who could fail to take advantage in the length of time he had been away probably wasn't all that interested, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

Picking up the image, he turned it slowly in his hands.

It had been wonderful to have Prowl back in his arms again, if briefly worrying when the other mech had stated his demands. Bad enough that his mate had seen the truth of Jazz's life during their bonding; he did not need to be seeing the awful truth of this most recent mission for himself. There were memories there that Jazz himself did not want to access, and he had no intention of sharing them willingly.

In the end, though, he had worried unnecessarily. Their reacquaintance had been very physical, but they had agreed to keep the protective programming in place to prevent any 'unfortunate transfer of data' - Prowl's words, not his.

He sighed, shaking his head at the image.

"I musta done Primus one pit of a good turn somewhere along the line t'earn you, Sparkles. I don't know one more bot in existence who'd accept the slag you do." Shifting his gaze downward, he dipped his head in respect. "I owe ya big time an' I know it. But ya wouldn'ta let all this happen just t'take him away again, right? Just keep him safe when I can't? Please?"

Sitting in silence for a moment, he wondered if prayers this far from Cybertron even got heard. Then shook himself and subspaced the picture.

"Right. Someone must have a party goin' on somewhere. Lets see if I can find it. It's time Jazz started havin' some real fun."

No point hanging around when Prowl was going to be busy for the next little while. And when he came off duty, Jazz would be waiting for him.

* * *

Prowl cast a discerning optic over the coded reports that were flooding in and was not quite sure what about them disturbed him.

Everything was going well. One of the teams had attacked early by a groon, and two had been late by nearly half a joor, but the time differences were negligible really - they were not enough for the Decepticons to realise what was happening and prepare effective counter-measures.

So why did it feel as though something were missing?

"Phase two complete." he reported as the milestone was reached. "Phase three at 41.79 percent."

Optimus was pacing, agitated by all of this. Prowl understood that. What they were doing was more than a little risky in so many ways.

The soldiers involved in the attacks did not know they were killing Autobot and Neutral prisoners as well as Decepticons within the bases they were destroying. They were just following orders, and if they paused to question any of it or chose to be creative about the application of their roles there would be trouble. It was not the way he preferred to work, but he had run every other possible scenario and this was the best option.

The data Jazz had obtained had granted other agents access to critical systems such as defensive shields and tracking systems, allowing this attack to occur. They had had to act quickly to take advantage of that data, but he had still planned this carefully.

His optics raked across the displays again. What was wrong? Something about the data just seemed off, and he could not pinpoint why.

It was not as though they could have saved the victims, he reminded himself.

According to the figures that Jazz had smuggled out, there were only thirty-one that still had all of their limbs and that number would certainly have dropped in the intervening time because Jazz had in fact managed to spread a slow-impact rust infection amongst them before he left. The other Autobots did not know that, other than Curveball who had ordered it, but Jazz had confessed it when Prowl had told him of the plans in motion.

_"You gotta see the logic in it. It'll stop the Seekers hurtin'em. It'll get'em killed, yeah, but that's the best we can do for them. You can't_ _**rescue** _ _those breeders, Sparkles. They're too damaged. Most of'em've gone insane, an' the Cons use the ones that haven't t'practice their hackin' on so they_ _**drive** _ _'em mad. At least this way they'll be killed quick an' smelted clean t'try t'stop the spread."_

Optimus would never have condoned that decision, Prowl mused, updating one of his charts with some incoming figures. The Prime was remarkably compassionate; he despised the thought of anyone suffering, even their enemy sometimes. Perhaps that was the influence of the Matrix, perhaps it was just his nature, but it was an attitude that Prowl admired and he wished that Curveball were not quite so inclined to undermine it.

The Chief of Special Operations was open about his motivations and loyalties - Prowl felt comfortable that he would not betray them. But he had _been_ a Decepticon and hated them with a deep-seated passion that most Autobots never felt. He had no mercy towards them, reluctant to the point of insubordination whenever Optimus tried to offer terms for surrender or leniency. Jazz had a great deal of respect for his boss but Prowl knew that he did not like the mech and that he did not always like his methods.

"Progress?" Optimus demanded, interrupting his thoughts before they could meander too far from the task at hand.

"49.73 percent. Phase four initiated at six sites."

"Resistance?"

"Negligible at this stage. Team 7 is under heavy fire but are well placed and reinforcements will arrive within the breem."

"Key targets?"

Prowl shook his head.

"No sign of Megatron or any of the high command. The _Nemesis_ has not been located."

"Where _is_ he?" Optimus muttered worriedly.

"You want me to send out some queries?" Blaster spoke up from the far side of the room where he was plugged in to the main encrypted communications grid.

"No." Prowl shook his head. "Maintain contact with the attack groups, those lines must stay open."

"Gotcha."

Even so, it was a valid worry. If Megatron was not at Darkmount then he must have an attack of his own underway, it was the only time he ever left Cybertron. So far there had been no reports of problems from any of the Autobot ships or bases, so...

Suddenly he knew what was missing in the data he was receiving and leapt across to a different panel, fingers flying as he began trying to call up the information he needed.

Too slow, too slow, oh Primus how had he missed this? The connections were all there now that he thought about it; random comments in unrelated reports coalescing into a coherent pattern that he should have seen before.

"Prowl?" Optimus demanded. "Report. What's wrong?"

He turned to stare at the Prime in horror.

"We've lost contact with Luciana."


	51. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 5 of 6

A rattling noise made Sideswipe raise his rifle protectively, and he saw the others in his unit fan out to identify it. A moment later he saw Cadmium press the barrel of his rifle against something hidden in a pile of rubble and shoot twice in quick succession.

He grit his teeth. Another survivor beyond help. Primus save them, were they going to find _no-one_ left intact enough to rescue?

The orn had started out like any other. The command staff were agitated about something but there was nothing new in that. Then word had filtered out that a major offensive was underway and was going well.

How or why those nineteen targets had been selected he had no idea, but one of them was Perihex - where the largest Decepticon barracks were situated on Cybertron - and it was with images of the Perihex communications tower toppling that they had been informed of the attacks in the first place. They had all been on the defensive for so long that the move caught everyone by surprise and maybe that was why it had worked: the Decepticons can not have expected it either.

And then less than a groon later, the celebratory mood turned to panic as it became clear that the Decepticons were retaliating at their weakest point: Luciana.

Officially Luciana was not an Autobot base, it was a safe haven for bondpairs and breeders and sparklings. Every known carrier and sparkmated pair had been rounded up and sent there after the change in Decepticon policy while Prowl played decoy pretending to prepare bases out in the Plutes sector. The 'decoy' part had particularly appalled Sideswipe when he found out, knowing the terrible impact of that assignment on their tactician, but Prowl had apparently known the truth of his role from the start.

Sideswipe had wondered occasionally whether Prime knew that Prowl himself was actually a carrier. Given that Prowl had never even told Ratchet about the rape and the ensuing complications, it was unlikely that he would have told Prime.

In fact, Sideswipe sometimes wondered if Jazz knew his lover had that ability. It was something that was usually only known to a mech himself, and was not so common as to be assumed. Prowl obviously did not want to be stuck at Luciana and Jazz had been absent so long it was a question that he had thought may never actually be resolved, just something to ponder.

And now, of course, Luciana had been destroyed as thoroughly as Praxus or the Crystal City back on Cybertron, so the speculation was futile.

Something shifted in front of him and he saw a femme twitching helplessly on the ground, flailing weakly towards a rifle out of her reach. Her armour was torn and riddled with holes from close range blaster fire. She was slowly fading away.

"P-please." she begged him. "My-y bonded. They t-t- took... Please, he's a c-carrier... don't let them..."

Saying nothing, he swung his rifle up and aimed.

It was possible that with proper medical attention she might survive. Might. And it was possible that her mate was still in a condition to be rescued. Maybe. But neither were likely. At least this way they would be reunited in the Well of All Sparks.

A cold mercy, but better than lingering torture.

Team H3 - report his radio line crackled as it came online.

Nothing so far, base. he heard Greyline respond. What's the word from the others?

Nothing yet. Keep looking.

Muttering a quick prayer over the greying form at his pedes he moved on. Somewhere there had to be some survivors. There just had to be.

* * *

Prowl shaded his tired optics from the glare of the overhead lights as a shuttle made a low pass over the area, trying to focus on the datapad in front of him. His processor was threatening to crash on him with the stress it was under, struggling to handle too much data at once.

They had arrived at Luciana too late to stop the attack and abduction, but early enough that there had still been an ion trail to track. Optimus had dumped a unit on Luciana looking for survivors, leaving Prowl in charge, and had taken the rest of the crew of the _Escaphalion_ to lead the approaching Autobot reinforcements in retaliation. This time, Prime swore, they would rescue the victims before they could be abused for the Decepticons' gain.

He was right to make the attempt, if for no reason other than the fact that all of the factories had now been destroyed and so this group would give the Decepticons a fresh start instead of being bereft of their source of new sparks as planned. There was a reasonable chance that some of the captives might be saved, might still be in a condition to be saved. Where they would go next was a problem that would have to wait until later but there was still a genuine chance.

Meanwhile the search at Luciana went on.

Taking the _Escaphalion_ meant taking the ship's computers and Prowl had downloaded the strategic data of the various attack plans into his own tactical processor so he could continue to co-ordinate them. Nineteen separate teams constantly supplying new information and demanding new orders; plus the need to consider the reports coming in from the various other Autobot bases and ships about Decepticon movements; plus the search effort here at Luciana; plus the sporadic updates from the rescue fleet headed by the _Escaphalion_.

It felt like his head was very slowly exploding.

"Prowl?"

It was a shock to hear the sound of someone actually speaking to him vocally rather than through the dozens of data channels he was sifting, forwarded by Blaster who was sitting beside him. He swayed dazedly, simultaneously sending different instructions to two separate groups and acknowledging completion of phase five from a third.

"Prowl, we've found a sparkling." the voice informed him. "Where are we going to send him?"

"Forty-three percent probability of success with option b-2805d5." he muttered. "Too low. Re-plotting."

Primus below, he was actually vocalising his processes now? That was far from being a good sign. He moved to rub the side of his helm to try to allay some of the ache, then found there was something in his hand. A datapad? Why? Oh yes, he was recording the Autobot casualties and the civilian survivors. So far one list was appallingly long and the other was empty.

"Prowl, the sparkling?" the voice insisted.

Looking up he initially thought he had a fault with his optics as he seemed to be seeing double. He focused and realised it was Huffer with an unfamiliar yellow minibot badly in need of a trip to the washracks. A sparkling, had Huffer said?

"How old are you?" he found himself asking, sickened by the irony.

If someone had only thought to ask him that question all those vorns ago, he would have been here at Luciana himself and would never have met Jazz: his lover's fatalism would have gotten him killed long before Prowl could possibly have finished his basic training. Then again, Luciana itself would not exist if he had not had the idea, so... oh, his processors hurt.

"Two hundred and seventeen, sir." the sparkling responded. "Are you a commander?"

"Chief Prowl is a senior officer." Huffer answered the question before continuing. "His designation is Bumblebee. He's been upgraded into his adult frame, but he's too young to have a function-base yet."

Not so, Prowl mused dazedly, remembering the aches in his processor when his mentor had installed the tactical function-base when he was only a few vorns old. Similar, in some ways, to the pain he was experiencing now.

The name penetrated, familiar. Bumblebee? That was the designation given to that sparkling created on the _Ark_ just before the ship had been sent back to Iacon, the one who had been inexpertly hidden away as a drone. His creators had never been identified. Whoever they were, they may well have died here today or been taken capture. Unless they had never admitted the truth and remained amongst the crew of the _Escaphalion_. It was possible. The migration to Luciana had been on a voluntary basis.

"Take him to Ratchet and get him checked over." he instructed.

"Ratchet went with Prime." Huffer reminded him.

Prowl pressed a hand against his helm as six reports came in at once, each updating the data in his processor and all demanding his immediate attention.

"Leave him here, then." he said shortly. "Go and keep looking until we've had the whole place thoroughly cleared."

"Here?" Huffer echoed.

"For the love of Primus will you stop bothering him?" Blaster complained. "This mess's nearly tearing _my_ circuitry, and I'm just filtering it, not analysing it. The mechlet'll be just fine here with us - go and do your thing. Steeljaw - watch the sparkling, would you?"

Three more names for his list, courtesy of the updates, but also one for the other column. Bumblebee. Hopefully there would be more names in that list before this was over.

* * *

Sideswipe had to search for nearly three breems before he finally found where Prowl had hidden himself away.

The tactician was shuddering, the contents of his tank having been purged onto the ground around him. That was not surprising - the medics had predicted he would react like that when he released the pressure of trying to take the place of a mainframe in terms of processing power, and Blaster was doing much the same nearer to the temporary command centre. Prowl, though, would want to maintain morale by not purging in front of the troops, and thus had disappeared.

So that was not surprising, but finding a yellow minibot with him was.

"He's sick." the minibot announced worriedly, spotting Sideswipe. "Can you help him?"

Sideswipe nodded, moving closer.

"Yeah. You're Bumblebee, right?"

The minibot brightened.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Sideswipe."

"S-sides..." Prowl grated, trying to straighten, then hunching over as more fluid forced its way back up through his systems.

"How many times've I gotta deal with you purging, eh?" he asked, feigning irritation. "I swear that's the only reason you keep me around."

"A... Any word from the _Escaphalion_...?"

"Not yet. You heard the Cons spaced a whole lot of the captives to slow down the chase? Latest word is most of them were already gone before they got ditched. A few've been saved, though."

Prowl nodded jerkily and raised his head a little, then clutched at it.

"Primus."

"You've got to charge, Prowl. Pipes says it's the only thing you can do until they can get a proper power drain installed to draw off the buildup in your circuits."

"No." Prowl said softly. "There's... work to do."

"You'll kill yourself."

"Not today." Prowl argued, forcing himself into a straight-backed posture, then froze there and his optics dulled.

"Prowl?" Bumblebee asked after a moment. "Sideswipe? What's wrong with him?"

"That's what happens when you overwork, Bee." Sideswipe sighed. "I think his processor just broke."

But then Prowl's eyes lit up again fitfully and he jerked upright.

"We search again." he ordered, swaying unsteadily. "If there are any more survivors, we _will_ save them. I'll see to it, it's my responsibility."


	52. Part 10: Win some, lose some, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 10, chapter 6 of 6

_Epilogue_

According to Ratchet, he was a glitch-ridden drone who had no right to even still be functioning after the strain he had put on his processor. According to Blaster, he was 'one tenacious slagger' who the Decepticons should fear as much as the great Unmaker. According to the Autobots in general he was a hero for the devastating attacks on the Decepticon bases that he had planned and coordinated. According to the handful of Luciana survivors he was a failure for not planning sufficiently to protect them.

He was of the opinion that the last was the truest summation of his recent actions. Their successes at the nineteen targets did not make up for his failure to protect Luciana.

Perhaps if he had not been distracted by the thought of spending time with his lover he might have forestalled this tragedy. The thought made him want to curl up in shame. All those lives lost that could perhaps have been saved if he had just stayed focused on his job...

"Shh." Jazz hushed him as he struggled against the heavy sedatives Ratchet had drugged him with. "Y'need t'rest, Prowler."

There was no time to rest, there was work to be done. He had to find a way to atone for this debacle.

"They're still dying." he moaned, not even caring how or why Jazz was with him. "It's my fault."

"Shh, it's not your fault."

"Have to save them. Have to try harder..."

"You try so hard already. No-one can save everyone."

" _I_ will. No more dying. No more."

"No more." Jazz agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to his chevron. "But rest now, okay? The rest of us'll look after everyone. You just rest. Please, Prowler. You have to rest."

"No more." Prowl whispered, feeling the drugs taking over. "Work harder. No more."

He meant it, too. There would be no more deaths that he could prevent. He would see to it.

* * *

Jazz watched as Prowl finally relaxed into the drugs, thinking hard. Based on his own observation and on the comments of others he had known that Prowl tended to overwork himself, but this was ridiculous and it would have to stop. They should talk about it, but they may not get the time or opportunity to do so.

He had not heard yet what Curveball thought of this turn of events, but he was sure he would find out soon. It was not a good situation to be in. His role as 'Jazz' in the flagship crew was supposed to be an unremarkable one; a cowardly, mediocre storesbot who loved to have a good time and shirked unpleasant tasks whenever he could. A quiet role which drew no notice from anyone.

Being known as the Chief Tactical Officer's lover was hardly the best way to stay unnoticed.

The options to fix this were mostly unpalatable. They could abandon the role of 'Jazz', but it would take time to build trust in any new role he took on. Too much time. Or he could go somewhere else, be on a different ship, but Curveball wanted him close. It was more likely that his boss would expect him to break off the relationship, publicly. And even then, he would have drawn far too much attention to himself. 'Jazz' would likely have to disappear for awhile again.

Primus help him, he did not _want_ to stage a break up. He understood the reasoning, he knew the problems related to everything continuing this way, but he had been separated from Prowl for all too long. Curveball owed him after that last mission. There had to be _some_ way to make this work.

He just couldn't think what it could be.

"What's the word, Raj?" he muttered, noting his friend's approach.

Prowl was senior enough to have rated a private ward rather than being treated in the busy main bay, but Jazz kept his focus on Prowl as though he were still talking to his lover just in case someone came in and caught him talking.

"Curveball says to play the part, for now." Mirage murmured, moving to the opposite side of the berth, still cloaked.

"Unusually friendly of him. Where's the catch?"

"So far there doesn't seem to be one. Our infamously disagreeable leader actually likes your berthmate almost as much as he likes you, Meister."

"He doesn't like me, he likes the work I do."

"That could also be said to be true of his opinion of Prowl." Mirage considered.

A junior medic entered, apologising for disturbing him and collecting some supplies from a cupboard before hurrying out again and, unfortunately for Mirage, shut the door which had previously been left open.

Given privacy for a moment, Jazz turned to look into the corner where Mirage had moved.

"This is gonna put me right in the spotlight. I'll be stuck playin' this role for a bit - it's gonna be tough gettin' me out for anythin' that comes up."

"And is that a bad thing? You have been promised a break."

"Doesn't mean I get one, you know that." Jazz pointed out, then a thought occurred to him. "Hound talked him into this, didn't he? Hopeless romantic that he is. He should know better."

"He thinks the two of you are charming together," Mirage responded, his tone suggesting that he did not hold the same opinion himself, "but he has not yet spoken to Curveball. He is still helping with the final search effort."

"Depressing work."

"Indeed."

"Well," Jazz mused, "they've both got bad glitches in their logic centres, that's for sure. Won't work in our favour at all. But tell'em thanks, from me?"

Mirage did not answer, but Jazz knew him well enough not to expect one. Instead, he rose and walked out of the ward, catching the attention of the nearest medic and letting them know that Prowl had finally dropped offline. He was ordered to return to the ward and wait for Ratchet.

Returning to the berth, he pressed a kiss to the top of Prowl's helm.

"So much for keepin' it all secret, Sparkles. But it'll be okay. I just hope you won't throw a fit when you find out Sides gave us away, 'cause he was only doin' what was best for ya."

* * *

Sideswipe was more than a little uncomfortable with the company he was currently keeping. He was only in here because it was the closest energon dispensary to the repair bay, usually frequented by medics on their breaks. He had come in to grab a few cubes before he headed off to charge, but then Prime had come in and asked to join him.

Well he could hardly say no, now could he?

And then one by one, the rest of his command team and most of their subordinates had filled up the remaining space until it was standing room only and he was trapped.

Somewhere more comfortable, he knew, his brother was laughing at him.

Still, as awkward as it was, at least he was getting to hear first-hand some of the chaos they had just lived through. That would be worth a lot in terms of the gossipmongers.

"How were they betrayed?" Optimus asked as an aide handed him another cube of energon.

"The only ones on board who knew the exact location were Prowl and Red Alert so it can't have leaked from here." Tripwire shook his head.

"All messages were encrypted and kept to a minimum." Broadcast added.

"Far as my lot can tell, that's what gave them away." Curveball shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked.

"Everyone knew _what_ was planned for Luciana, we made no secret of it; just not where. When they realised Plutes-1 was just a decoy, it made sense that the location was somewhere else, a long way from there and well hidden. We've never had a base in that sector, it was too far out to be useful or supported, but we were receiving encrypted messages from them which meant it wasn't Neutral. Simple."

"If it's that simple, why didn't you say something earlier?" Tripwire questioned, looking unhappily into his empty cube before setting it aside.

"Because it was still the best shot of protecting them, and we had no sign the Cons'd figured it out. Up until now they've been pretty obvious when they've made a major attack, but they didn't spend much time planning this one, they just took off and did it. Probably the influence of this new mech, Starscream."

"If that unpredictability carries on we'll be in serious trouble." Broadcast frowned. "We're having enough problems keeping up with them now."

"I'm sure Prowl is already working that into his planning." Optimus acknowledged the problem. "The question now is how we maintain contact with the Neutrals who remain when they blame us for this disaster."

"We don't." Curveball responded. "They don't want our help? Fine. Leave them to it. They're a drain on our resources anyway."

"I have to agree." Tripwire nodded. "The costs involved in working with them are too high. We should never have been responsible for Luciana in the first place - I'm not knocking the idea, Prime, I'm just saying that once it was in place we should've backed off. Our role is to stop the Decepticons, not play caretaker to a group of pacifists. What happened was inevitable and it wasn't our fault."

"I don't think it's even our choice." Broadcast added. "They don't want anything to do with us now. They wouldn't even wait for the medics to finish treating them, they just left. They're not responding to hails on any of the normal frequencies, they took the ships we gave them and went."

"But they left one of their number behind." Optimus frowned, his gaze now landing squarely on Sideswipe. "Do you have any idea _why_ Prowl did not have Bumblebee stay with the other rescuees?"

"If you ask _me_ ," Ratchet grumbled, shoving his way in through the crowd and dropping gracelessly into a hastily vacated chair, "he just didn't have the spare capacity to _think_ to."

Optimus' expression softened a little.

"How is he now?"

"Resting, finally. We had far too much trouble overriding his duty protocols that were keeping him online: he was locking everything else out. Throwing him into stasis wouldn't have helped, he just would have come back online like that. It would have been easier if _someone_ 'd told us he was in a sparkmate relationship to begin with - soon as he heard Jazz's voice, he started to shut down."

Sideswipe squirmed, the centre of attention once again. Maybe someone here would give him some help hiding from Jazz for giving it away, but he would not bet on it.

"It's always been a secret."

"Always?" Optimus echoed. "How long have they been together?"

"I don't know. They were together when I came on board. It was a secret, though."

"Wasn't much longer than that." Curveball spoke up.

"How do _you_ know?" Tripwire asked sharply.

"I know _everything_."

"Strange slagging relationship they must have." Ratchet pointed out, as another aide arrived with two large pitchers of mid-grade. "That blasted coward's been off ship more than on the whole time. You'd think one of them'd get bored and play about a bit."

"Prowl loves him." Sideswipe said simply. "He keeps it hidden most of the time, but it's there."

"Yeah, if you believe that drone even knows what love _is_." the aide muttered, getting a sharp reprimand from Tripwire and an ominous glare from Curveball for his foolishness.

"Well the secrecy can stop here and now." Optimus declared, valiantly ignoring the undercurrent. "Prowl's quarters are large enough for the both of them, and this will be a reason to ensure he takes sensible breaks from his work in future. But we are still left with the quandry of what to do with this sparkling. The Neutrals we were previously in contact with have scattered and are unlikely to want to make contact again, given that they now distrust us as much as the Decepticons."

He paused there sadly for awhile and there was an awkward, contemplative pause.

"Could he go back to Ovacalix with Blaster?" Tripwire asked finally.

Optimus shook his head.

"Blaster won't be returning for awhile, there has been an outbreak of cosmic rust. I won't send a sparkling into that environment."

Their silence resumed and Sideswipe tried not to fidget as it drew out. Couldn't one of them just get around to dismissing him already? Sending him away? Surely one of them should notice that he didn't belong in this group?

"Elita and her unit will be accompanying Ultra Magnus back to Iacon." Optimus continued eventually. "Perhaps this little one could go with them."

"Not with what they're planning to get involved in." Broadcast pointed out tantalisingly, then irritatingly did not elaborate. "There has to be another option."

"Why can't he just stay here?" Sideswipe blurted the obvious.

The officers looked at him blankly.

"It's not like he's a newspark - he's only a few decades off his majority. Anyway, it's the safest place. I mean, if someone gets to him _here_ , then we're all slagged anyway. Right?"

"He's got a point." Broadcast agreed thoughtfully.

"Who'll watch over him, though?" Tripwire asked. "We're not a care centre - everyone has a job to do."

"I'll take him on." Curveball commented, drawing an immediate chorus of negative responses which he ignored. "We can always do with more scouts and Hound doesn't have an apprentice right now. It'll keep him out of combat and get him into training so he's ready for later."

"Bad enough anyone at all has to do your work, but a sparkling?" Ratchet shook his head.

"I'm losing staff just like the rest of you - makes sense to find some new trainees. And at least I can keep him relatively safe."

"Well, we'll see how it goes." Optimus allowed. "Keeping him on board the _Escaphalion_ is probably the only option for now, but if a better solution occurs to any of you, I want to hear it. A battle cruiser is no fit place for a sparkling. And Curveball: I'll be checking in with him personally. He is only to remain in this position so long as he is happy with it, understood?"

"Sure, Prime. Whatever you say."

Somehow, coming from him, that easy response did not sound at all reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 10.
> 
> A/N: for clarity, there's a major difference in this 'verse between having a sparkmate and having a bondmate. The big secret is most definitely not known :)


	53. Part 11: Evening the odds, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11, chapter 1 of 6

Prowl onlined to the feel of hands sliding possessively down his chassis and leaned in to the welcome touch. Warm lips brushed against his and he met them lazily, letting his lips part a little as a glossa swept against them.

"Mm, nice." his lover approved. "You always taste so good."

He powered up his optics to find Jazz smirking down at him, and paused to lick his own lips.

"I think that's the last of that oil mix you're tasting this morning." he considered.

"Don't make no difference t'me." Jazz accepted the correction readily enough. "Do you have any idea how adorable you look, lyin' there half-offline an' all sticky?"

"That's disgusting."

"Not t'me." Jazz assured him, flinging himself carelessly back down onto the berth. "Primus I _love_ my life."

Prowl snorted softly at that, remembering an opposing statement escaping Jazz's lips only a few groons earlier after a long, boring shift in the storage holds. Jazz's surface moods were quicksilver, ever changing, giving only hints of what was hidden deeper. Increased time together was helping them both interpret the other better, but they agreed to keep the blocking programs well-maintained for fear that once they dropped them they would not want to reinstate them again. It was quite bad enough having everyone on the ship believe they were unofficial sparkmates but even a hint of the bond would cause trouble they could not afford.

There were positives in the public knowledge that they were lovers, definitely. Jazz had moved to share his quarters and was usually there when he got off shift. Everyone swore that Jazz would drive him mad with the chaotic mess he would make but Prowl already knew Jazz's habits from when they had been quartered together on the _Ark_ and was prepared for the change to his orderliness. What was new were the changes to his routines.

On the orns when he was working late, which happened somewhat less often now that he had an incentive to delegate more, Jazz would come up to find him. He was not allowed into Prowl's office, the security staff had been very firm on that point, but he would loiter in the hallway chatting to whoever was around and soon had many of the regulars charmed. He ended up being quite good friends with Smokescreen who would often ping Prowl to let him know he was being looked for. Sometimes Jazz would bring energon with him and let Prowl carry on with his tasks; sometimes he dragged him back to his berth, scolding him loudly all the way about overworking.

When their schedules permitted they took their breaks together. Jazz was always properly awed by the company of the other officers if they were up that end of the ship, and Prowl was introduced to a wide range of others when they were down amongst the soldiers. Most of these new acquaintances he knew by sight and role and designation but had never had any reason to interact with previously. With Jazz as a guide he a completely different side of shipboard life than he had experienced before: he attended a few of the entertainments both formally and informally organised, wandered about the ship into areas he had never before ventured except on official business - and in a few specific cases never wanted to repeat - and learned to dance.

Sadly the change was not all positive.

He was initially surprised to find he had lost the respect of a lot of mecha who thought he should save the serious relationship status for someone of higher rank. Sharing with a 'grunt' was one thing, but proclaiming him as your sparkmate was something quite different, particularly when that grunt was known to be quite the player and had a reputation as a coward, specifically in the way he kept disappearing for vorns at a time to hide out at safe outposts while everyone else fought for their lives.

Jazz had been unperturbed by the fact that he was the main topic of gossip on the ship and that most of it was unflattering, pointing out that this was one of the reasons that they had kept it a secret for as long as they had. He assured Prowl that it would all blow over eventually and that they just had to ride it out.

It would have helped if more mechs had known what Jazz really did for the Autobots, but that was top secret. Only two of Curveball's staff were actually known to work for him: Mirage, the spy, and Hound, the scout. Prowl knew that there were at least nine others on board including Jazz, but they were only ever referred to by code name for their own protection.

"Meister." Prowl murmured, loving the sound of his mate's code name.

Jazz clicked in disapproval.

"I shouldn'ta told you that. CB'll have to assign me a new one."

"Why?" Prowl asked. "It suits you."

"It's supposed to." Jazz reminded him, then kissed him again before rolling gracefully off the berth. "But if you know what it is, you'll know who he's talkin' about when he releases plan details an' it'll worry ya."

"But if he only changes yours, I'll still know what it is." Prowl argued, also rising and heading towards the washrack.

"Huh. Point. He'll have t'change all of'em then." Jazz reflected, keying in to the terminal to check his messages and work schedule for the day.

"Don't you find that disorienting?" Prowl asked him, pausing at the washrack door. "Changing your designation all the time?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Y'get used to it."

"Is Jazz your real name, then?" Prowl asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him. "Or is it just another assigned name?"

Jazz looked across to him.

"Everyone got their name given to'em by someone, Sparkles. Now go wash off like I know you're itchin' t'do. I've got stocktake again so I'd better get goin'. I'll see ya after fourth call. Be _on_ _time_ for once, will ya?"

"I'll try." Prowl promised.

Jazz sauntered past, reaching out to caress a doorwing teasingly.

"On ti~ime!" he sang out as he moved away.

Prowl just smiled and headed into the washrack. Jazz was perfectly correct, life was good right now.

* * *

Sideswipe heard the clattering long before he reached the end of the corridor, and he slowed his steps to gauge the situation.

"Slagging glitch." someone swore.

"Grab him!"

"Sorry, mechs, I don't feel like playin' t'day."

"Ow! Watch it!"

"He's over there!"

"Look out for the...!"

There was a crash as something fell over, and more swearing, and then there was a louder voice.

"What in the name of the Unmaker is going _on_ in here?"

Sideswipe stopped, and after a moment a black and white figure slipped out into the corridor who spotted him and beckoned him through to another room in the maze of storage holds.

"Wouldn't go in there right now, Sides." Jazz told him merrily, pulling a datapad and stylus out of subspace and beginning to dutifully check the contents of the shelves.

"You know Prowl's gonna hear about this one of these orns and blow his processor over it." Sideswipe pointed out.

"He hasn't yet." Jazz shrugged. "No-one's brave enough t'be the one t'tell'im."

"And if a group of them really _do_ manage to corner you?" he asked curiously. "This isn't a Con base - you can't just tear off an arm or knock'em offline without someone investigating and then you'll be in the brig."

"Please." Jazz scoffed. "I'm no amateur. I ain't leavin' no marks that can't be explained away. Besides, I got plenty o'backup."

He gestured back towards the corridor and Sideswipe heard the rant continuing.

"...don't know what it is with you glitches messing up my inventory but I _do_ know some mechs who're going on report. _And_ who'll be helping re-stacking and re-cataloguing every nut and bolt in here until I'm satisfied it's all back in place..."

"He's really fragged off today, isn't he?" Sideswipe commented. "Glad I wasn't here just a few clicks earlier."

"Yeah, your timin's good. Oh, an' Prowl tells me you've been promoted. Congrats, mech."

"Squad leader." Sideswipe shrugged. "Sunny thought it was hilarious until he realised I can actually give him orders. Then he started complaining. How should I know why they picked me?"

"They picked you because you've earned it."

"Not because I'm friends with the CTO, then? That's what everyone's saying."

"No it's not. Most bets are on it bein' because you fragged someone."

"No-one with enough clout to do this." Sideswipe considered. "But is it true? About Prowl, I mean."

Jazz shrugged.

"Even if it's true, does it matter? You'll do a good job."

"Then it _is_ true?"

"What do you think?"

"But Prowl's always said he's got no say on team development, only on deployment."

"Maybe he lied."

"Prowl doesn't..." Sideswipe began, then realised he was being teased and growled. "And Prowl calls _me_ infuriating."

Jazz just smirked, peering inside a container to check the contents and Sideswipe leaned up against a nearby crate.

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"

"What?" Jazz asked innocently. "Counting and re-counting every last circuit chip and spool of wire and iron filing in the holds? It's what I do, remember? I'm a coward who loves to have a good time but got caught up in the war and jumped on the first task that kept me off of the front lines."

"Who also just happens to be jacking the Prime's tactician." Sideswipe snorted.

"And _how_." Jazz sighed contentedly. "You shoulda seen him last night. Primus, ev'ry time I think he can't get any more sexy..."

"That's more than enough of that." Safestore snapped from the doorway, making Sideswipe jump. "What you do off-duty is your own business, but on duty that's _Chief_ Prowl you're referring to and I expect you to be civil."

"Yes sir." Jazz apologised, cowed. "Sorry sir. I don't mean to be disrespectful."

"Hah. You wouldn't know how to be respectful if your life depended on it. And you, Sideswipe, what are you doing in here?"

"Looking for some type three fuses. Someone's blown the secondary terminal in the simulator on the B-deck again."

"Idiots." the quartermaster grumbled. "Alright, come with me, you're looking in the wrong place. As for you, Jazz, finish up this room then start on the chemical store."

"Yes, sir." Jazz bobbed obediently.

"And stay away from those others, you're in enough trouble today as it is."

Safestore led him out, and looked at him sidelong as they headed down the corridor past the entrance to a room where a small group of angry mechs were arguing over whose fault it was that they had lost their recreational period.

"I find out you've done anything to that lot picking on Jazz and I'll put all your requisitions to the bottom of the list for a vorn." the threat came conversationally.

"Picking on him?"

"Don't play coy. I've had nothing but trouble since he got back - never do, really, when he's around - but this time it's worse because of this crazy declaration of the CTO's."

"Crazy?" Sideswipe frowned. "He wouldn't joke about things like that - he's not like that."

"Well I suppose _you_ might know, but it won't last." the quartermaster predicted off-handedly, guiding him into a room and walking confidently amongst dozens of cryptically-labelled shelves that all looked the same to Sideswipe.

"Mark my words. Jazz is a good-sparked mech, and he's a hard worker so long as you keep a close optic on him, but he's about as bright as a shorting bulb. The lieutenant might be enjoying slumming it for a bit - Primus knows there's nothing like a proper street mech if you want a good jacking - but he'll get bored of having to tone down his intellect to hold a simple conversation with him. The little glitch can't even _defend_ himself!"

"So why're you warning me off helping him?"

"Because I know how you'd do it and I don't need Chief Ratchet swearing up a storm when he finds out how low on temp plating we've gotten. If we can just get to the rendezvous with the _Fantalex_ on schedule, he'll never even know. Right. Here's what you're after. Now scat - I've got enough glitches down here to take care of without you too. Even if you _have_ been promoted."

* * *

Optimus turned off the vidscreen and motioned for Prowl to continue his report.

"That's all I have thus far." Prowl shook his head. "It has been difficult to get reliable information since the Neutrals have become unwilling to talk to us."

"Understood. Broadcast is working on rebuilding some of those relationships, but it will take time. What of the plans for Garrus Domen?"

"Almost complete. I will bring them to you when I have resolved the remaining issues."

Optimus looked at him kindly.

"This intention of yours to ensure that there are no casualties is a noble one, Prowl, and I appreciate it. But you and I both know that it's not always possible. Whether or not we go ahead with our other objectives, we have to move on Garrus Domen before the Decepticons complete their blockade or we will lose our main energon supply."

"I am well aware of that." Prowl nodded. "And we will do so. But I will make the plans as potentially successful as I am able, and I feel that there is still more I can refine within the timeframe allowed."

"Very well."

"Is that all, sir?"

Optimus nodded.

"Yes. Dismissed."

Prowl hesitated, then spoke up.

"Some rest would do you good. Particularly if you still intend to lead the troops on this sortie."

Optimus looked at him, clearly amused.

"Somewhat ironic coming from you, Prowl. Until recently, I've had to resort to _begging_ you to rest when you disobey direct orders."

"I know my limits, sir. Though I was perhaps a little foolish in pushing myself as far as them quite as often as I did."

"We're all a little foolish at times. Yes, I will go and rest. Call me when the plans are complete, then take a break yourself. Once this action starts it may be awhile before any of us have the luxury again."


	54. Part 11: Evening the odds, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11, chapter 2 of 6

Prowl watched impassively as Curveball talked through the logistics of his team's part of the plan, producing a map of the targets and a timeline. It seemed a bit tight even to Prowl, but he was not going to question Curveball's knowledge of his own staff. In fact, he was relying on it.

He had known even as he drafted it that Jazz's skills would be needed. 'Meister' was the only trained saboteur amongst the list of available agents Curveball had supplied him with, and they needed that generator taken out before the main assault to avoid high risk of serious injury. Prime, though, was looking concerned.

"This sounds highly risky to me." Optimus commented when Curveball sat down again. "I understood that the intention was to minimise risk?"

"The risks are minimised as far as I could establish." Prowl nodded. "Given Meister's track record, the probability of his success is over eighty-five percent."

"It will still leave him exposed between the explosion and the arrival of Ironhide's team."

"He'll handle it." Curveball assured him. "If it was simple, you wouldn't need my team's help at all."

Prime still looked uneasy but nodded.

"Very well. And the shielding?"

"Taking out the main generator will give us a window of at least one point three two breems to move within the perimeter before the backup systems can be brought into play." Prowl called up the appropriate file. "You will need to move quickly."

"Indeed." He looked through the team listings, then nodded. "Alright. Briefing in two point eight groons. Curveball - prepare your team. Prowl, you and your team are off duty until the briefing, get some charge before this starts. And may Primus smile on us all."

Prowl bowed and left the briefing room heading back towards his quarters, but Curveball called out to him and gestured into his office.

"You know, don't you?" he asked bluntly when the door closed.

"That Jazz is Meister? Yes." Prowl responded, seeing no point in denying it.

"And you still give him the riskiest position in any plan you've written in vorns?"

"He has the skills." Prowl reminded him. "The risk is lowered when that is taken into account."

Curveball nodded slowly, then slapped Prowl cheerfully on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger.

"We should've outed you two vorns ago - it makes everything _so_ much easier."

Unsure if that was a compliment or an insult, and knowing Curveball well enough to suspect that it was both at once, Prowl simply nodded and left. The rest he got now would have to sustain him for what was likely to be a very long time, so there was no point in dallying.

* * *

Jazz settled into the rhythm of packing the right number of supplies in the crates in the right order, humming quietly to himself as he worked.

The work was soothingly mundane. No-one was trying to kill him - beat the cogs out of him for his presumption, yes, but not kill him - no-one was targetted for him to kill, his survival did not hinge on the solidity of his back story, and he was amongst friends who knew who he was.

Well, sort of.

Jazz was not the name he had been activated with, just another role he played. All of it was just part of the big game, another small piece to the puzzle that kept the Autobots safe and informed. Who he had been before the war, and what he had been called, was no longer relevant. He was no longer that mech at all. He had committed himself to his work and did not regret that choice.

For a long time, if he thought of himself at all beyond the roles he played then he thought of Meister. Meister was not his original name either, but it was someone he could just _be_. No time wasted on keeping up appearances for others, he only cared about himself.

Pausing to consider that for a moment, he realised that that had never really been enough for him. He was social by nature, he wanted to interact. Maybe that was why he had created 'Jazz' in the first place.

In any case, somewhere along the line he had stopped playing any role around Prowl and was simply... whoever he was. _Jazz_ he supposed, for lack of any other label. Only this Jazz was different to the one everyone else saw and changing that would be a slow process or it would raise suspicions. The very last thing he needed was for some upset security mech to declare him a Decepticon agent and have him arrested.

Well at least he was back in the Autobots, where he belonged. Back amongst friends.

Mostly friends, he reminded himself as he ducked out of the way as a scowling mech stomped past him with an armload of crates, timing his move almost too late to make it look like a near miss. But even these ones were friends of a sort. They were defending Prowl and Prowl's honour, and for that he could forgive them their exuberance and persistence in wanting to flatten him. His lover had stirred incredible loyalty in a lot of these mechs - loyalty that was grudgingly won. Jazz felt pride swell in him, then a melancholy regret took over.

Prowl had grown up, and he had missed most of it. The tactician was no longer the naive, insecure sparklet who had been so scandalised the first time Jazz had said Optimus' name without the honorific title; whose social experience was so limited he had not even known about Primus or how to recognise when someone was flirting with him.

Back then, Prowl had been so easily confused by so many things that Jazz took for granted, and his innocent view of the universe had tempered Jazz's own jaded one. Now he moved and spoke and acted with an inner confidence that seemed unshakable, and Jazz envied it. Yes he still loved Jazz with a passion, but it was no longer the clinging love of a youngling to their mentor, he no longer _needed_ Jazz as he had: he was an equal partner in this relationship.

The change was inevitable, and Jazz certainly did not begrudge him his growth, he just wished he had been there to watch it happening. Particularly since others _had_. Sometimes he caught knowing glances passing between the twins when Prowl said certain phrases during briefings, or Sideswipe would cheekily predict a reaction to something that Jazz would have sworn would throw Prowl, and the twin would be right.

It stung a bit to realise that Sideswipe knew Prowl better than he did in some ways, and to know that it would probably remain that way: just because he was not being called on right at this moment, it was only a matter of time.

"Jazz!"

Shaking off his reverie, he hurried over to his official boss.

"Yes, sir?"

"Blasted ops bots and their insane requests." Safestore grumbled, then shoved a pad in his direction. "Looks like there's another one of _those_ missions going on. Put this lot together, will you? We'll drop the crates at the _Fantalex_. Make sure they don't make it onto the inventory list."

And as quickly as that, he mused, the moment arrives.

"Yes sir." he nodded, scanning down the list curiously, background knowledge helping him to assemble them into their intended purpose in his mind and telling him that he would soon be getting a break from stocktake. "What do you suppose they do with all this stuff?"

"Not for me or you to wonder." he was reminded firmly. "Just get it together and then go report that it's ready. And don't waste time wandering about on your way - we've got work to get done. Oi! You there! Don't try to lift three of those at once, you'll overbalance and break them!"

* * *

Sideswipe joined the small crowd of squad leaders filing into the briefing room, still feeling quite out of place in spite of the fact that he had been attending regular briefings since his promotion. Today was different, though, there was something big planned.

It was still more than a little strange to be part of the command chain, even if he was only right at the bottom. He had always just done as directed, following orders. Spending time with Prowl meant he now had much more of an idea where they were and why, but he had still been just another soldier. Now he was responsible for a squad and expected to have the answers for all the questions they would have.

He had a momentary flash of sympathy for all the squad leaders he had pestered, but then that passed. If they'd been any good they'd always had the answers you needed when you needed them. And if they weren't then he didn't want to work for them anyway so being transferred for being irritating had been worth it.

This was the first major assault since his promotion. He had taken his squad out on patrol runs and escorting supplies, but most of the job so far had been the same as his old role just with a few more meetings. Today things would change.

To his disappointment Prowl was not standing at the front of the room. Wasn't this his plan, shouldn't he be the one telling them about it?

None of the tactical staff were present. In fact, nor were any of the senior officers. Sureline, the unit commander for their teams, was at the podium just as he was for the regular boring briefings and as he began to speak Sideswipe realised that this was being treated just like anything else.

He folded his arms crossly. Did everyone really have to take the fun out of _everything_? Irritated, he spent a moment searching through his subspace pocket for a datapad, but it seemed like a waste of time.

"...team is being briefed separately." Sureline finished as he looked up again and Sideswipe wondered guiltily what he had missed. "As for the rest of us, we will be deploying according to real-time orders from the tactical staff. Everyone will be issued with _one_ decryption module - do _not_ lose it. If it looks like it might get captured, destroy it and retreat to your assigned regrouping point.

"The initial assault will be made by a small team supplemented by special operations staff. Once the base is secured, the tactical team will give direction from there using the Decepticons' own starcharts. Some of the targets you are given will be diversions from other targets, so pay attention to the orders you are receiving - if you're told to pull out then do it, no matter how close you are to the target.

"Everyone is recommended to take double rations and ensure full armaments. Your teams should be ready to go by third call. Right, that's all for now. Sideswipe, I need to talk to you for a click. The rest of you are dismissed."

"I was listening." Sideswipe protested as the others filed out around him and Sureline came closer.

"I'd hope so, but that's your problem if you weren't. Your squad is getting special assignment."

Sideswipe perked up.

"Really?"

"You're working with Prime as extra support. For the love of Primus don't frag this up."

Prime? But that meant...

Sideswipe groaned.

Another bodyguard assignment. Great.

Then he perked up, remembering that Optimus liked to lead from the front. Maybe this would not be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along, _Echoes: The priest_ fits here.


	55. Part 11: Evening the odds, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11: 3 of 6

Nodding comfortably to Mirage as they parted ways, Meister slid into the guard room and casually killed the mech there with an electro-magnetic pulse to the chest. Such a weapon was uncommon - in war, mecha tended to prefer weapons that kept you out of armsreach of your victim. This was a weapon of assassination, not mass destruction.

Checking his chrono to make sure he was keeping to time, he activated the equally illegal scanner and used his own systems to assimilate the data in a way that was known as 'sorcelling'. His frame shuddered as he forced it to mimic the form of the downed mech before him.

Transscanning was one thing - every mech could do that - but there was hardwired programming to stop anyone converting into a form they could not sustain. Thus, a jet could not become a ground vehicle without structural conversion, and a hover vehicle such as himself could not sprout wings. Well, that was the theory. A bit of tinkering with his own core programming and an external scanner to get around the automatic non-scan of anything inappropriate, and voilà: he looked like a jet in base mode.

He could not transform, of course, and he certainly could not fly - he was not _really_ a jet - but he had the outer appearance of one. Now he just activated another custom-built system and the black of his natural colouring became dull brown while the white became common Decepticon green. The final step was covering his Autobot symbol with the Decepticon insignia and he was on his way.

The act of sabotage was simplicity itself. He knew how to move in a Decepticon environment and blustered his way through the few times someone tried to delay him. He even got two of the maintenance technicians to place most of the charges for him, keeping himself out of sight of the cameras in case anyone was actually monitoring them. The idiots followed their orders without question because he outranked them. He killed them anyway, not wanting them to have time to start thinking, particularly if they happened to escape the attack.

When the explosion occurred, precisely to schedule, he was collecting a cube of energon in the base's rec room. Acting normal was the best way to stay alive during an infiltration, and at this time of the orn a mech of his model would need more fuel. No-one spoke to him; Decepticons kept to themselves out of self-preservation, and so long as he looked as though he belonged he would just be accepted as one of them.

He swaggered down the corridors, mingling but not joining any particular group, always looking like he was heading somewhere with a purpose. And he was. In a breem he had managed to place additional charges all over the strategically vital areas of the base without actually entering them.

Heading outside, he heard the sound of laser fire. This was where the plan was most dangerous.

If he was spotted by a Decepticon officer he would be ordered to transform and attack, which he was incapable of doing. If he was seen by someone of lower rank he would be called over to join them and if he did not he would be chased as an intruder and the cause of all of this chaos. If it was an Autobot to find him first, they would not pause to talk.

Working his way cautiously back toward the rendezvous point, he had a few spark-freezing moments when he was nearly uncovered but he kept his composure. Twice, he had to kill a Decepticon in his way. Three times he had to find a way of diverting the attention of Autobots who had deviated from the agreed plan and were where they were not expected to be; such things always happened. In spite of all that, he made it to his assigned point comfortably within the timeframe he had been given.

Concealing himself in the shadow of an overhang, he settled himself on his knees so that he was comfortable, then pulled out a pair of energon cuffs and bound his own wrists, slumping submissively. He held the position passively for almost a full breem before a small team of Autobots came charging around the corner.

"Con!" Hairtrigger called.

"Just where Mirage said he'd be." Ironhide approved. "Good. Keep him targetted while we secure the area."

Hairtrigger strode up to him, nudging him with the barrel of his rifle.

"Don't move or I'll shoot, and I'm a good shot." he warned.

That was no idle threat, Meister knew, but he also knew that the mech would hold to his orders: he would not shoot unless Meister tried to escape, which was not at all his intention. Unfortunately, some other mechs were less obedient. A dark blue pede shoved him down onto the ground, pressing down on his neck hard enough to restrict the flow of fluids.

"Piece of trash." Tracks sneered. "If it was up to _me_ , we'd shoot traitors like you."

"He let us in here in exchange for asylum." Hairtrigger reminded him. "He's already stopped being a Con."

"So he _says_. But who'd believe anything a traitor says? He's probably just trying to change sides long enough to plant some bombs on the flagship, right, slagger? Was that the plan?"

"P-please." Meister whined. "They promised I wouldn't be hurt. I surrendered."

"Oh you _surrendered_!" Tracks sneered. "And what would you know about surrender? About mercy? You don't _deserve_ to be treated like a mech. Drones have more rights than you do."

"Tracks! Stand down." Curveball barked, approaching. "That's _my_ prisoner."

"Prisoner?" Meister yelped. "But I... I thought..."

Curveball smirked down at him nastily.

"Oh you'll get your freedom. I've just got a few questions for you first. Bombblast! Pick him up - I want him on the shuttle where we've got some privacy to _talk_."

* * *

Sideswipe returned to the drop zone to carry Prime's message but Curveball was nowhere in sight. It was possible that he had gone to inspect some of the other teams, or had passed Sideswipe on the way and was now talking to Optimus, but neither were likely. He growled to himself, wishing Curveball would just appear so he did not have to go and find him. It did not work, so he turned towards the shuttles with great reluctance. Specifically towards one small shuttle which was slightly away from the others.

It was a very poorly kept secret that on missions like this Curveball wasted no time in beginning his interrogations of the prisoners, and the sounds that escaped the small craft were rarely pleasant. Today was no exception he noticed as he made out a muffled scream. Nevertheless, he had a job to do.

Feeling very sorry for himself, he reached out to knock on the shuttle door then jumped back as a figure materialised beside him. Mirage.

"What do you want, Sideswipe?"

"Primus, you nearly made my pump stop!"

"Well?" the spy demanded impatiently.

"Prime's got control of the command centre. He wants a progress report. He also wants to know how many prisoners we've got."

That last was important. Prime was very specific about the conditions that prisoners had to be kept in, and Curveball was notorious for accidentally 'losing' some captives in the system and then 'finding' them later after they had 'committed suicide'. It was disturbing how creative some of those suicides were, at times.

Mirage's gaze flickered back to the shuttle, then he gestured away briskly.

"I will bring a response shortly."

"No, he said I had to count them." Sideswipe insisted.

Mirage did not respond for a long moment, looking at him disapprovingly, but Sideswipe held his ground. This might be the first time Sideswipe had been asked to do this, but it was certainly not the first time Prime had given this order, and they both knew nothing less would suffice.

"Very well. Wait here until I return for you."

"Abso-fragging-lutely." Sideswipe muttered, pacing away from the shuttle.

On the up side, the shuttle only had a single room, so they could not conceal any prisoners from his count. On the down side, the shuttle only had a single room, which meant he was going to see more than he really wanted to. He was generally in favour of Decepticons suffering, it was what they deserved, it was just that Curveball took too much pleasure in it for Sideswipe's liking, and the rumours he had heard about the officer's methods did not bode well for what he was about to see.

"Get in here, then." Curveball called grumpily after a few moments.

Squaring his shoulders, he entered and looked around the small space. There were five prisoners bound in a line along one wall. They were all on their knees with energon binders around their wrists and ankles and also their wingtips since they were all fliers. They were gagged physically as well as having muting collars around their necks and had wires connected into various ports. Sideswipe did not look too closely, trying not to think about what those wires might be for.

Prime would not like this, he was sure, but they were at least still active and mostly undamaged physically. The one on the opposite side of the room was a different story.

This mech - a conehead, by the looks of it, and a particularly ugly one too - was bound to the wall by energon chains that kept his limbs splayed on an angle that just had to be painful. There were no obvious wounds, but he was twitching spasmodically and the shock rod lying casually nearby told Sideswipe plenty about what had been occuring only moments earlier. This mech was gagged as well, but was trembling and whimpering where the others were silent and still.

Sideswipe shuddered and turned away.

"Right." he rasped. "So. Six, then."

"Five." Curveball corrected him, guiding him outside.

"I saw six." Sideswipe said stubbornly.

"Not if you were counting Decepticons." he was told. "Only five of them are prisoners. The other one asked for asylum. He's there of his own free will. The count is _five_."

* * *

Prowl glanced up as Sideswipe hurried back into the crowded control room, and saw him head for Prime. He grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

"How many?" he asked quietly.

Sideswipe looked grim.

"Six. But Curveball's saying it's only five because one of them defected."

Five plus Jazz, then, Prowl mused and nodded slowly.

"And their condition?"

Sideswipe shook his head.

"I've heard of him doing worse but it's still nasty. Looks like he's using the defector to scare the others into talking."

Prowl felt his doorwings tremble at the thought of Jazz even pretending to be tortured, and willed them to still.

"But they were all functional? You got a good look at them all?"

"Yeah, I can identify them if there're any 'accidents'." Sideswipe told him grimly.

Interesting. Jazz's disguise must be particularly good to fool Sideswipe at close range. It made him once again curious as to how that was achieved - Jazz most definitely had not had any bodywork done before leaving the Ark with Mirage, and there had been no time for any en route - but not enough to go and look for himself.

"I will make the report to Prime. Go and join your team again. I'll call you if I need you."

"Prowl?"

"Yes?"

Sideswipe leaned in closer.

"Why doesn't Jazz get called down to help with these things? It'd take some of the pressure off if mechs saw him _doing_ something."

Prowl shook his head, struck by the irony of the situation.

"Jazz has his role, Sideswipe."

Turning away he headed over to Optimus and waited for Hot Spot to complete his report before stepping forward.

"Curveball has five Decepticon captives, plus the defector. Sideswipe has seen them and can identify, if needed."

Optimus nodded slowly.

"Thank you. And we are still on track?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Carry on."


	56. Part 11: Evening the odds, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11, chapter 4 of 6

The second time Sideswipe approached Curveball's shuttle it was quite a different situation. For one thing, Curveball himself was with him.

The CSO had turned up and talked to Prime and Tripwire and Prowl for a few clicks, handing over a pad with the data he had collected including access codes to the encrypted data in the base computers. The codes worked, the screens filling with fresh data, and Prime had ordered Curveball to release his prisoners and have them sent back to the _Escaphalion_.

Occasionally the Decepticons would permit prisoner exchanges and if not then Prime always preferred to give everyone a second chance. At worst they would be stripped of all weapons and of the ability to fly in space and would be dumped somewhere remote. Given time, they might manage to work around those difficulties and escape, but they had very few options: Optimus was no fool. Before they were dropped, their images - and designations, if known - were broadcast to the enemy as informants to the Autobot cause. They would be on a Decepticon hit list, they could never be Autobots, so their only option was to keep out of the way and stay unnoticed.

Most did just that, choosing life over deactivation.

"Wait here." Curveball ordered, walking up the ramp and closing the door behind himself.

"He's up to something." Sideswipe predicted softly.

Beside him, his brother grunted.

"Whatever it is, I don't want to know. The mech's creepy."

"No question." Sideswipe nodded, but still felt uneasy.

In the end they waited almost a full groon before Curveball reemerged, trailed by five very cowed Decepticons.

Sideswipe's team paired off, two to a prisoner, but he himself hesitated.

"Where's the other one?"

"There is no other one." Curveball shook his head.

"The defector." Sideswipe reminded him.

Curveball grinned nastily.

"Prime only wanted the prisoners - I heard him myself. Don't you worry yourself about the other one, he and me are going to just have another little chat before I send him back."

That did not sound good at all, but it was true that Prime had only specified the prisoners, and Curveball was already disappearing back into the shuttle so there wasn't any chance to argue again now. Growling, he motioned the squad forward and they set out towards the base.

The prisoners seemed completely unmarked, he noticed as they shambled forward on unsteady pedes; hobbled by the restraints but not hurt. All of their defiance had gone, though. Decepticons were often cowardly once someone else was holding the rifle, still, it was disturbing. Pulling his prisoner aside, he motioned for Sunny to hold back.

"What'd they do to you?"

The Decepticon gave him a terrified look.

"Please don't let him hurt my wings." he whispered. "Please. Have mercy."

Sideswipe growled and shoved him back into line. Prime was going to hear about this - it wasn't right. Curveball went too far sometimes, and it sounded like this was one of those times. A Con was a Con, but taking a flier's wings was beyond cruel.

* * *

Jazz groaned, letting his head flop back against the wall once the gag was removed, working his jaw to ease the ache.

"Con-sparked afthead." he grumbled tiredly.

"Keep talking like that and I might get offended." Curveball joked, tossing the gag into a box which stored the restraints when they were not in use and started to untangle the remaining magnesium strips from around his wings, rubbing away the scorch marks where a few had burned.

On a real jet just the presence of the strips would have been enough to cause panic, particularly so close to the sensitive ailerons. But his own sensor net was nowhere near that area so it was just an irritation.

"You make a very convincing victim." Mirage commented, coiling up the wires that had recently been attached to their prisoners, feeding them with random pulses that scrambled their subroutines, making it difficult to think rationally and raised the fear quotient. "I thought it a particularly nice touch, overloading when he scratched your wings like that."

"Yeah, thanks for that." Jazz said sarcastically. "I'm gonna have to get those buffed out before Prowl next sees me or you two're gonna have the pit to pay. You might still, anyway, if Sides tells him exactly what he saw. Why'd you let him in here?"

Curveball grunted.

"Things've changed since you were last in on one of these ops. Prime started noticing that the numbers of prisoners we start with and the numbers who made it back to the brig weren't always the same. He's taken to sending someone to get a proper count when he thinks it might be one of those situations. You'll notice he didn't recognise you, though."

"Course he didn't. Ugh, just get me down. My hips feel like they're startin' to warp on this angle and I'm _not_ explainin' to the medics how I managed to twist my pelvis doin' stocktake."

"That's not difficult." Curveball retorted. "You just tell them Prowl's developing some bondage kinks. All the questions stop right there, right Raj?"

The spy gave a faint smile.

"Hound likes to be creative sometimes, that's all."

The restraints powered down and Jazz stumbled forward helplessly only to be caught comfortably by the other two who eased him down onto the floor.

"Right." Curveball nodded. "Get your balance back, then you two get going back to the other shuttle and back up to the _Escaphalion_. We'll debrief after you've both got some charge. Oh and Jazz?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Good work."

* * *

Spangle and Trailbreaker reported in that they had their profiles and data loaded and were ready to go; Smokescreen needed another three breems. The base's former rec room had been rapidly converted into a tactical centre and technicians dashed about making the final connections.

A little further away, other teams were repairing the damage done by Meister and Mirage, work that was going remarkably rapidly - ahead of schedule. It seemed that for the most part the charges had been set in critical places but had done minimal damage. The base shields were already back up and the autodefences almost back online.

Prowl returned his full attention to his own work. The base computer was up and running and Tripwire had several of his assistants dredging it for data, but Prowl was busy inputting data rather than retrieving it. Taking this base was only the first step, and with every passing breem there was more likelihood of retaliation. They had to work fast.

First they had to clear the airspace between here and the wormhole which would be their escape point. Then mine the surrounding area. The Wreckers would go through to Caldisi and begin the attack there to try to draw attention; Ultra Nugen's teams would occupy the nearby asteroids; the two newest Autobot troop ships would join the fleet and begin systematically attacking the targets he was starting to specify now based on the information Tripwire was providing.

"Ready!" Smokescreen called.

Prowl did not bother responding verbally, simply directed various datapackets to each of his subordinates and all three began working on their own segment. Knowledge was power and they had to be flexible if this was going to work at all.

He allowed himself to pause for just a few clicks, acknowledging that if he got this wrong it could cost a great number of lives, then shook that off. He had been careful. He was right. This would work.

"Prowl? How long before you can identify the first target?" Optimus asked him.

"I'll have basic details online in two point eight breems."

"Right. Autobots! Restock your ordnance - we need to be ready to leave in three breems and I want everyone ready to fight. We are going to take this sector _back_."

* * *

Jazz pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the side of the shuttle, wanting nothing more than to curl up on his berth and charge.

Sorcelling into inappropriate forms and changing back again in a short timeframe always took a lot out of him. Add to that Curveball's little bondage game to convince the real prisoners to talk and he was exhausted. The setting on the shock rod had been much lower than he had been feigning but it had been a long time since he had last played that role and he had forgotten how intense it all was when you were truly helpless.

Curveball had only been playing with him but he knew that the ex-Con would do whatever he felt necessary to convince his audience. He could easily have come away with detached limbs and perforated fuel lines rather than just a lingering static charge in his spinal column and a thrumming ache in his arms. There was a very fine line between where Curveball thought it was appropriate to keep pushing in an act and actual torture, and Jazz had been prey to that distinction before.

There was no safety net in ops.

Mirage had handled the flight back so he could make the conversion without distraction, and had wordlessly handed him a cube of energon and a cloth and a bottle of cleanser when he was done. Between them they had managed to rub off all the dribbles of lubricant and coolant from his panelling, and filled and buffed the scratches on his back before they docked. Then he had hidden in a compartment until Mirage distracted the maintenance workers so he could escape.

He had barely arrived back at Prowl's empty quarters, had not even had time to get into the wash rack, when Safestore had commed him and demanded he get off his lazy aft and down to the shuttle dock. Never mind that he was officially on leave with Prowl's signed approval, Safestore wanted him _now_. So within a groon of leaving he found himself back down on the moon base, this time helping to stack up all the resources for transport back to the Ark.

"Jazz, you'd better not be slacking off." Safestore growled at him.

"I'm so tired." he whined, finding that a particularly easy tone to play today. "Pro... uh, _Chief_ Prowl was _insatiable_."

Okay, so his lover would be mortified, but he needed an excuse and one that wouldn't be questioned too closely. On Jazz's recommendation Prowl had given no specific reason for his break from duty; it was always easier to be convincing when you had fewer lies to match up with.

"Just get back to work." his boss ordered, sounding disgusted. "I don't have time for your complaints today."

He sighed, straightening - wincing as his hips twinged - and shuffled back towards the collection point.

"Yes sir. On my way."


	57. Part 11: Evening the odds, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11, chapter 5 of 6

Sideswipe pressed his back firmly against the wall he was using as cover and checked his ammunition and energy levels, finding them both adequate. Not bad, given that this was the twenty-fifth consecutive orn of the campaign.

There had been regular rest breaks but the pattern had been relentless, cycling over and over, and everyone had gone through the irritable stage and come out the other side into numbness. Thus far, though - _and Primus hold it remain so_ , he prayed quickly and fervently - there had been no casualties. Injuries, sure. Some of them even serious. But no-one had died.

The unit commanders were ruthless with anyone who stepped out of line, and were getting updated orders almost constantly from the tacticians at Garrus Domen using the Decepicons' own transmitting equipment and Broadcast's ever-changing encryptions. They were carving their way through the Decepticon forces here with terrifying efficiency, aided by the fact that most of the defenders were just drones and splitters.

Sideswipe was assigned to Prime's unit and right at this moment was literally guarding the commander's back. It meant he got to hear a bit more of the commentary than most but there was never a lot more to it than arrive, fight, leave, reload, arrive. Three of the targets so far had had greater than anticipated resistance, but Prowl was not at all interested in a siege - he wanted quick victories or he would call a retreat.

Which was what he was doing with them now, and Prime was not happy about it.

"We are only a few tils from the base." Optimus was arguing. "We can cover that distance in a few more breems."

 _Negative._ Prowl responded, Sideswipe having to strain to hear the quiet radio even from this close distance. _You do not have sufficient firepower to overcome the defences. Withdraw._

"Send reinforcements."

_Any reinforcements will be waylaid by the forces pinning down your flanking section. Your orders are to withdraw._

"Slag it, Prowl, we can't keep _running_ because you're afraid someone might get killed!"

Without even a click's pause Prowl replied frostily.

_With all due respect, sir, I have tactical command and you are out of line. Now get your unit back to the shuttle and off that moon before I have to send someone to rescue you. Prowl out._

Prime was still for a moment and Sideswipe tried not to do anything to get himself noticed, but the large mech turned towards him anyway.

"You didn't hear any of that."

"Not a word, sir." Sideswipe agreed.

"Good. Remember that." He opened an encrypted local channel to the unit. "Autobots. We have a new target to pursue, this one isn't worth the fight. Everyone withdraw to the shuttles."

* * *

From Jazz's lowly position it had been difficult to keep track of everything that was going on, but basically it seemed they were using the information in the Garrus Domen databanks to target ill-defended bases in this sector and overwhelm them. Where they met resistance, they pulled out; where they were successful, they took what they could and kept moving.

The job of those left on the big ships was to strip every base they landed at of everything that could conceivably used right down to the wiring mounts and floor panels and the pace had been frenetic, following the frontliners around the system as they tore into the Decepticon bases. Personal quarters on board the _Escaphalion_ were now mostly inaccessible due to the materials that had been crammed into the hallways and staircases, so they were pretty much living in the command area and bunking down in the barracks unless they happened to have access to the officers hall.

Which, fortunately for him, he did.

The _Escaphalion_ and the six other ships that had been filled to bursting with supplies were now en route back to Ovacalix to store the overflow and everyone was finally getting some time off until they had to unload. So what did they do? Have a party, of course.

Jazz had been at the party for the best part of three groons and was considering leaving to get some charge. He was all for celebrating when the chance was there, but he had never had a chance to properly catch up on his rest and it was starting to have an effect. Perhaps if he just caught a groon or two now, he could be back for when the party _really_ got started?

He began breaking away from the group he was dancing with when he noticed a disturbance over to one side. Getting closer, he realised it was Safestore and that the quartermaster looked infuriated. Deciding this was something he would like to know about, Jazz slipped through the crowd on the pretext of getting another drink and managed to slide into place just behind the angry quartermaster when he stopped.

"Chief Curveball! Did you sign off on these orders?"

Jazz grimaced faintly, realising what had been uncovered. He had hoped to just slide that request through when they arrived at Ovacalix with no-one any the wiser. It was not that he needed any of it right now, it was just a good idea to stockpile while the supplies were on hand.

"What orders?" Curveball asked, reaching for the pad.

"500 skels of fuse wire?" Safestore demanded. "1200 dols of TMC liquid explosive? It's excessive! What are you trying to destroy, a whole planet?"

Curveball finished off his cube of high grade and waved the empty cube.

"Raj! Get over here for a minute!"

Mirage approached through the crowds with Hound. The scout had his arm possessively wrapped around the spy's waist and smirked at Jazz who felt safe enough in his position behind Safestore to move his head faintly in a dizzying circle to indicate his exasperation at his supervisor's pedancy.

Who else would bother checking the requisitions order details while there was a party on? Well, other than Prowl, perhaps.

Primus but he missed that mech.

"What now?" Mirage asked, his usually precise enunciation slurred a little by overcharge.

"Did you add all these extras onto the requisition list for when we get to Ovacalix?"

Mirage peered at it, then shrugged.

"Meister said he needed them."

"Meister!" Safestore protested.

Curveball shrugged helplessly.

"Meister's the expert. If he says he needs all those explosives, then he does."

"Meister doesn't _exist_." Safestore argued. "I've never met him."

"Of course you have." Curveball laughed. "You just didn't know it was him, that's all. What, you think my best undercover operative'd just break cover because he needed some supplies?"

"But... there's no report of him being here..."

"Your _best_ operative?" Mirage grumbled snippily.

"Well of course there isn't. Raj, don't be like that - you know you're the best at what you do."

"He sure is." Hound agreed brightly. "Still, it's been a while since I saw Meister. How's he holding up, out there?"

"He's keeping in practice." Curveball smirked, then focused as though only just seeing Jazz. "Hey you - get me a refill, will ya? Raj? Hound? The same?"

"I think we've had enough." Hound declared. "But don't stop on our account."

"Just two cubes, then." Curveball told him absently, handing over his empty cube and slinging an arm over Safestore's shoulders. "Now lets forget about inventory for a groon or two and _relax_."

Sighing in visible self-pity to garner some sympathy from the onlookers, Jazz complied with the order.

Playing this role was far less demanding than some he had played in recent vorns, but it was still tiresome and he was still heading back to an empty berth. At least he was amongst friends, and well fed, and had the option of charging when he needed to.

And, as a bonus, if he really pestered Cliffjumper when the minibot navigator had a hangover he might just be able to get an update on what exactly his lover was doing. With luck he would be keeping up at least _minimum_ charge because Ratchet would probably make good on his threats and Jazz would be left with a doorstop for a mate.

* * *

"Sir?"

Prowl kept his optics switched off. He was very tired and there was no point being wasteful of the energy he had conserved.

The base had not had any tactical staff and thus had not had the equipment they needed. Huffer's technicians had installed what they could, but with the heavy demands on the systems two of the tracking tables had already broken down. His subordinates were on rotated duty so they could manage with the surviving two, and he could use his inbuilt processors to do the rest.

Rest. That was what he had been trying to do, but his chronometer informed him that he had only been charging for a groon before this interruption.

"Yes?"

"Sir, Smokescreen reports that all four bases in sector 93271 have been successfully taken. He wants to know if we should try to hold them."

Pushing himself upright, he reconnected to the datanet and downloaded the latest information. It made for worrying reading.

The attacks should simply not be this successful. The bases should have been calling for help and the Decepticon forces should have been massing to take revenge, yet there was no sign of it.

The last time this had happened, Luciana had fallen. But he had constant updates coming from all of their outposts and so far none of them had seen anything and none of them had gone quiet.

He was missing something, _again_ , but what?

"I'll talk to Smokescreen; get me some energon." he ordered. "And tell Huffer I want an update on the repairs."

"Yes sir."

"And Codex?"

"Yes sir?"

"Get Blaster working on maintaining more frequent connections with all of the fleet. I want reports every five breems."

Whatever this was, he would identify it. This time he was not going to be caught out.


	58. Part 11: Evening the odds, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 11, chapter 6 of 6

Prowl rubbed his fingertips against his helm in endless small circles, trying to relieve the ache in his circuits. It had no actual effect on the circuitry, but the rhythm was soothing and he needed to concentrate. Thirty-four orns of constant campaigning had reaped many of the benefits they had been seeking, although it had been a terrible strain on the troops, not to mention his staff. One by one his assistants had flagged and he had taken them off duty, though they had all doggedly returned to their posts long before the medics had recommended was wise. His own naps had gotten shorter and shorter until he was mostly just dozing in place when he could catch a few clicks.

His gaze landed again on the sole remaining functional board that his three assistants were clustered around. The other boards had burned out in spite of Huffer's best efforts - the temporary fixes not enough to sustain the level of work required from them. The map was a mess of feints and attacks and retreats, but mostly it told a story of failure.

He hoped it looked that way to their enemies. They had really only held to the plan for this long because the Decepticons had misunderstood what they were after.

The idea had never been to take and hold this sector, no matter what Prime had told the troops. It was too large, and their forces too small, and the enemy too numerous. If they stopped anywhere for too long, they would be swamped and slaughtered.

Instead this was a case of hit hard and fast, then run. Where they were temporarily successful, the support ships quickly raided the site for resources, then ferried them back to one of the three dozen way points he had organised, from where it was collected and carefully dispersed to strongholds around the galaxy. Meanwhile, the frontline troops were destroying vast numbers of the Decepticon splitter reinforcements which could no longer be replicated _en masse_ as they had in the past since the factories had now been destroyed.

The concept was a simple one, really. At some point, they would start encountering _less_ resistance because there simply would not be enough of these filler troops to cover all of the potential targets. And since their attacks were carefully randomised, the Decepticons would not be able to establish a pattern. At least, they should not be able to. That was one of the issues that was starting to bother him - in his current state of exhaustion was he being meticulous enough in ensuring no predictability?

Another concern was the stress on the soldiers. He was rotating them as best he could to ensure that they got at least a joor's rest every orn and at least half an orn's uninterrupted rest every five, but it was still a relentlessly wearing schedule. Tired mechs became careless and unpredictable. Thus far there had only been two deaths, both due to fatigue-related accidents when mechs disobeyed orders, but if this carried on for much longer he was sure that that number would rise significantly. And once the first mech fell in battle, it would damage morale and others would lose focus too.

How to sustain the momentum, that was the problem. It was the longest constant Autobot attack of the entire war to date, far longer than he had predicted being feasible, and what must be driving the Decepticons insane was that it was not even on major targets. At least he hoped it was irritating them; their lead strategist, Powerplay, in particular. It should be. Prowl was systematically destroying their buffer of expendable troops and drones and bringing the fight back to a closer balance of mech on full-sparked mech.

There was another buffer still to come into play, of course. The Seekers: the experiments who had been held in reserve thus far. His fingers clenched against his helm in frustration. Where were they? Why was Megatron still holding them back? It made no sense. Thirty-four orns of this should have been _more_ than enough to draw them out.

He flicked his attention back to a separate monitor and scanned the list. Since his oversight at Luciana he was now careful to monitor _all_ of their bases during one of these actions, to have _everyone_ primed for attack no matter how far from the main conflict, but none of them showed any sign of a Decepticon ambush.

Why not?

Could he really have fooled them so completely? he wondered, turning back to the map of the sector. True, he was trying to make it look like a series of desperate and uncoordinated strikes that failed more often than they won. The Autobots were not managing to hold any of the territory they took, and so superficially it appeared that the Decepticons were not just holding their own but actually gaining ground. Were Megatron's strategists really that blind? Powerplay never had been so before.

~Prowl here.~ he responded even before the subroutine had time to activate the chime.

Three and a half decaorns of near-constant inward communications made him sensitive to the subtleties of directional comm traffic.

~Got an update on the Con High Command and the missing fleet.~ Curveball told him gruffly without bothering to respond with his designation. ~Took my operatives a bit of time to track them down. They've been way out in the Iconalix sector, and they're now on their way back towards Cybertron.~

~Iconalix?~ Prowl asked blankly, opening a command window to find a map of that sector. ~What are they doing out there?~

~It's almost too incredible to believe. Apparently they went looking for Unicron.~

Unicron? He had a suspicion that if he were not quite so tired, that information might have caused him to lock up completely, but right now he could barely even parse it.

~For what purpose?~

~Something to do with a new key to Vector Sigma. Sounds like it didn't work out, and Megatron's furious. I'll get you more when I can, but I thought you might be interested in knowing that Powerplay and his entire team was found drifting, deactivated. Not much left of them - they must've upset Megs right good. CB out.~

Prowl nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair and staring at the maps displayed on his HUD.

Powerplay had been Megatron's chief strategist, and had survived Megatron's temper for vorns where others had frequently been cast aside. He was also the Decepticons' only remaining tactician with an inbuilt tactical processor, and thus the one most likely to see the patterns in Prowl's own plans. But he had also been predictable in his own ways, and now that he was gone the Decepticons would be completely unpredictable and that made them far more dangerous.

This suggestion that Unicron might hold a key to Vector Sigma was something he would need to follow up. It seemed unlikely that the ancient menace had been found, but the fact that so many of the Decepticon forces had been involved in the search indicated that Megatron was trying to restart his factories, or at least rebuild his numbers. He would definitely be furious when he realised that his jaunt out into deep space had cost him such a large proportion of his existing troops.

Clearing the display that only he could see and looking around the room, he noticed for the first time in many orns what a mess it was. Datapads and empty energon cubes and plassheets littered every surface and covered most of the floor. From the other side of the room he could hear the constant babble of his assistants giving orders to their own sections, their chatter complemented by the comm traffic that filled nearly every channel, keeping them up to date.

They were tired, he was tired, and it was time to stop.

"Spangle. Trailbreaker. Smokescreen." he called. "New orders. All troops to begin staged retreat back to their assigned Alpha points. I'll have detailed orders for broadcast in three breems."

"We're pulling out?" Trailbreaker asked tiredly.

"Yes."

"Did we win?" Spangle groaned.

No. Victory would have been knowing the capabilities of these dreaded Seekers and knowing that they had a chance against them. Thus far they remained an unknown quantity. But that detail was one to bother him, not for others to worry about.

"We did not lose."

* * *

_Epilogue_

Jazz had never been more proud of anything or anyone than at the moment he watched Prowl follow Prime down the boarding ramp as the waiting crowd burst into a deafening cheer. Prime let them have their way for a moment, then cut through the noise with his commanding tones, giving a victory speech as only he could, but Jazz did not take in a word of it. All he saw was Prowl.

His lover was tired, doorwings trembling visibly with fatigue, but he stood impassively at Prime's side while the speech wound on, oblivious to the fact that much of the cheering was for _him_ rather than their leader. The amused tilt of the Prime's head suggested that he knew precisely what was going on, but he continued for a few moments longer before relenting.

"And finally we must acknowledge that our successes would not have been possible were it not for the tireless work of my chief strategist. Prowl, the..."

He got no further as he was drowned out once again. Jazz caught a glimpse of Prowl's uncomprehending expression before his view was blocked by others moving about.

As it started to descend into the chaos of well-earned celebrations, he determinedly made his way through the press of bodies and finally reached his goal, swinging Prowl around and kissing him soundly. Which, he noted in amusement, just made the cheering swell again. Maybe they were gaining some acceptance as a couple? Or perhaps everyone was just caught up in the euphoria of a victory - a rare occurrance in the long vorns of this fight. Either way, what they all thought was irrelevant: all that mattered was having Prowl back in his arms.

~You're a hero, Sparkles.~ he commed.

~I just did my job.~ Prowl argued, clinging to him disorientedly. ~And there were others...~

Jazz kissed him again firmly, wrapping one arm possessively around his waist.

~Primus you're so sexy when you're all innocent like that, I could jack into you right here and now.~ he groaned, then raised his voice. "Prime!"

"Yes, Jazz?"

"Permission to get my sparkmate good an' overcharged?"

"Permission granted." Optimus drawled. "Just remember I'll need him in one piece again sometime in the future."

"No problem."

"Autobots! It's time to celebrate!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 11.


	59. Part 12: Inevitabilities, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 12, chapter 1 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: unlike most other Parts, follows straight on from the end of the last Part; no break between.

"So you finally emerge. What time do you call this, then?"

Jazz continued to shuffle over to the energon dispenser through the debris of the recently ended celebration, not bothering to turn and face the speaker.

"Too early." he yawned. "Huh. Someone's got quite the cleanup job, haven't they?"

"So long as it's not me, that's fine."

Jazz finally reached the dispenser and drank an entire cube without pause.

"Ooh." he groaned, rubbing at his face. "I wonder if I can get away with just going back to the berth and offlining again?"

"You could try it. Who knows, he might even allow it this once."

"Ain't likely." Jazz reflected, then poured himself a second cube. "What I don't get is why he didn't just gimme the mission himself. Ain't like I've been hard t'find recently."

"Who knows why he does things the way he does?" the other agent shrugged, looking around unhappily. "I hate being on board here. Too much chance of being seen. Not all of us can sorcel our way out of trouble the way you can."

Jazz grunted shortly, not bothering to point out that sorcelling had its own costs and inconveniences, and trudged over to where the other mech was sitting at a table near the back.

"So much for celebratin'."

"Did you tell your lover you'd been called out?"

He shook his head.

"He's shattered. He went nearly forty orns without a proper break and it's catching up on him."

"Oh so you _didn't_ spend the whole time 'facing with him, then?"

Jazz looked up sourly.

"He went out like a blown bulb soon as he hit the berth. Not that I was surprised. Now are you gonna stop tryin' t'get a rise outta me an' get on with this, or should I just go back t'charge like I want to? There's a nice cosy spot beside my very tired mate that's just beggin' me t'come back an' fill it."

His unwelcome companion met his gaze evenly for a moment, then dropped to the floor without warning. Jazz did not react, knowing precisely what that meant, and was unsurprised when someone paused in the doorway a few clicks later.

"Jazz?" Sideswipe called. "Didn't think _you'd_ be out, yet."

"Just grabbin' some energon. Could say the same about you, though. Last I saw, you were leaving in _very_ interesting company."

The red warrior pouted.

"Broadcast thought it was _too_ interesting and put me on comms duty. I've only just come off shift."

"If you're still wantin' to catch'em up, I think they went to dock seven."

Sideswipe perked up, then grinned openly.

"Don't tell Sunny, eh? He's got a thing against fliers."

"My lips're sealed."

The toughline darted out and Jazz took a mouthful of energon as his companion resumed his position at the table, now all business.

"The briefing's on the shuttle. Be quiet about it - the fewer who see you go, the less likely anyone'll make the connections."

"You do your job an' leave me t'do mine." Jazz told him, finishing the cube and rising. "You wouldn't do me the favour of tellin' me what you're here for, would ya?"

No response.

"Didn't think so. Alright, I'm goin'. We'll have t'catch up properly sometime, Silencer."

The assassin grunted sourly.

"Yeah. Sometime, Meister."

* * *

Prowl came online and lazily reached out a hand to find his lover, but there was only empty space. Disappointed, he onlined his optics and checked the time. He had been offline for nearly six whole shifts - that was more than a full orn. No surprise, then, that Jazz was gone.

Sighing to himself, he sat up and smiled fondly when he saw a cube of energon waiting for him. Sweet of his partner to have done that. Reaching for it, he found a datapad there too, screen blinking with a recorded audio message.

His good mood dropped away as he realised what that would mean and he deliberately avoided it for awhile. He drank the energon then went and washed himself off. Only when he was fully composed did he activate the pad, offlining his optics so he could pretend Jazz was standing in front of him and speaking rather than just a message.

_"This ain't exactly the way I wanted ya t'wake up, babe, so I'm sorry. Somethin' came up, an' I gotta go on short notice. Usual deal - I dunno when I'll be back. Make sure you erase this when you've listened to it and destroy the pad. It'll help if ya dawdle a bit in comin' out, too, just in case anyone's watchin' me. They'll think I'm still wit'ya, an' it'll give me a bit of a head start. All goin' well it shouldn't be for too long, but... well, I ain't gonna make promises I can't keep. Look after yourself. Love ya, Sparkles."_

"Love you too." Prowl murmured sadly and onlined his optics.

Alone again. Well, he had coped before and he would cope just fine now.

Scooping up the datapad he began to initialise his connection back to his comm board to find out what work was waiting to be done, but then he stopped.

Jazz had asked him to act as a decoy - the first time his partner had ever asked for his help.

Slowly he lay back on the berth, one hand absently stroking the space where Jazz had been, the other holding the datapad flat against his abdomen. Perhaps he could do with another groon or so of charge. If there was anything urgent, no doubt someone would come for him.

* * *

Sideswipe shook his head in dismay.

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

Prowl did not even glance at him.

"I should have thought the statement was self-explanatory."

"I mean gone where? _Why_?"

"That is none of your concern."

Sideswipe paced, frustrated.

"He's been moping around here all this time waiting for you to get back, and then the nanoclick you actually get here he _leaves_?"

Prowl's doorwings dipped faintly downwards, barely even a twitch but Sideswipe had had time to learn the signals.

"He didn't even tell you he was going, did he?"

"Sideswipe..."

"The cold-cast glitch never even mentioned it to you - I bet he didn't. Tell me I'm wrong. Go on."

Prowl sighed and put down his stylus.

"He does as he is ordered, a manner which you could do well by emulating. Now I would appreciate it if you would permit me to get some work done without these unnecessary interruptions."

"But you're not even meant to be working!" Sideswipe protested. "Everyone thinks you two're in here screwing each other into the floor!"

Another subtle flinch.

"Then why, exactly, are you even here?"

"Because _Ratchet's_ worried you'll blow your processor if you don't get enough rest and energon after all that work you just did and you're not answering comms and I'm about the only one on ship who has the code to your door since you won't let the security team have it after Jazz changed it."

Prowl looked away.

"Leave the energon and go. The longer you're here, the more suspicious it is."

Sideswipe clenched his fists. Prowl was hurting and he hated to see it. It was Jazz's fault... no. No, it was _Curveball's_ fault for sending Jazz away. Knowing the slagger, he probably thought it was funny. But how to get back at the CSO?

"Does Prime know?"

"Prime believes Jazz is a storesmech, nothing more."

No good making a direct complaint, then.

"Fine. I'll go. I'll even tell everyone I didn't see either of you, just dropped the energon in here. But you're going to have to deal with it when they find he's gone. And with Ratchet when he finds out you've been working."

Prowl simply picked up his stylus and returned to his work. Disgusted, Sideswipe left.

* * *

"You did _what?_ "

The words echoed in the briefing room and Prowl allowed a moment to let them get over their shock before continuing.

"It seemed unfair to send anyone else away during the celebrations." he explained. "Jazz was fully rested and perfectly competent for the requirements so was the obvious choice."

Interesting, their reactions. Which of the officers looked horrified, and which looked smug. Ratchet and Optimus at least fell into the former category; Curveball outwardly fell into the latter, but Prowl had his doubts as to the veracity of that.

The meeting continued and other matters were discussed and eventually it broke up for everyone to go on with their work. Optimus asked Prowl to stay back, though, and for awhile they went over the finer points of some of the actions of the recent attacks. Once that was done, Optimus leaned back in his chair.

"Prowl, has Jazz done something to upset you?"

"No."

"Perhaps then it's just that you would prefer to end the relationship?"

"Most definitely not, sir."

Optimus's engine rumbled a little.

"He's unlikely to be happy with you, forcing him to leave for an unspecified length of time when you've only just had the chance to be together again."

"Sir, we were only parted for forty orns." Prowl said patiently. "Other pairs have been separated for many vorns for their duties, including yourself and Elita One. Jazz understands why he had to do this, and though it was not what either of us would have wished it simply needed to be done."

"Very well. One final question, then you may return to your duties. How is it that this request came through to you directly when you were rostered off duty? There is no record of it in the comm log."

"The request came through in one of the data packets Blaster had forwarded to me during the main action." Prowl replied smoothly, ready for the question. "I had noted it as a low priority at the time, but recalled it later." He paused and shifted his gaze away, not sure how well he could act this next part but he hoped his nervousness would appear as embarrassment to his leader. "I confess, the timing of the recall was not entirely appropriate."

"Indeed." Optimus mused. "Very well, carry on. But next time I suggest you put such a request through Safestore before making a decision. Supplies are his division."

"Yes sir, I will take that into account."


	60. Part 12: Inevitibilities, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 12, chapter 2 of 5

Hound spotted the mech at the end of the corridor and paused where he was for now; there was no good reason for Sideswipe to be in this area at this time in the cycle. This was why he was patrolling of course - to spot any suspicious activity - still he doubted Sideswipe was any real threat. Quite apart from his well established reputation as a pranker, Hound also knew how much faith Meister had in him. Not trust, oh no, Meister never gave out trust easily, but faith that Sideswipe would watch over Prowl in his absence and keep him safe, and that would not have been given lightly.

Hound frowned to himself. Meister's current absence was irritating. Curveball was up to something again and that usually meant a dangerous assignment for his most skilled agent, yet Mirage had no clue what it could be which was almost unheard of. Mirage had been Meister's backup, his support, since before Hound had been part of the team and for him to not be consulted had left them both uneasy.

Then there was the fact that the timing was so cruel. Mirage had taken a long time to accept that Meister genuinely had feelings for the cold-sparked tactician, while Hound had been pleased. The signs had been tiny but clear, ever since Jazz had asked him to keep Prowl informed if he died in the field: Meister had finally fallen in love. Curveball was entirely capable of doing such a thing deliberately, but he had seemed to approve of Prowl so why this and why now?

Shaking that off as a worry for later, he slipped quietly up behind the frontliner and peered over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Ack!"

Sideswipe yelped and hurriedly subspaced the tools he had been holding.

"Hound! Primus, where'd _you_ come from?"

"Just out for a walk. You know if one of the officers catches you with that you'll end up in the brig again, right?"

"Out for a walk?" Sideswipe snorted, unsubspacing the filter unit again and carefully unscrewing the cap on the innocuous-looking pipe amongst the others in the maintainence tube. "This late?"

Hound shrugged.

"I get restless sometimes. Looks like I'm not the only one, either. Whew - the fumes off that'd melt through armour!"

"Shh! It still needs mixing, is all. Here, hold this for a click."

He finished draining off the fluid then capped the tube tightly.

"Come and see some magic." he grinned at the scout.

Leading him back to a storeroom at the back of the maintenance section he pried a loose panel up off the floor and began pulling out tubes of variously coloured fluids and gases and a large empty cube. Mixing the unlabelled ingredients just so, he sealed the cube and shook it hard. The colour changed to an appealingly deep magenta and he removed the lid.

"Wanna taste?"

Accepting the cube, Hound took a cautious sip.

"Not your best batch." he declared after careful consideration. "But not too bad."

"Gee, thanks." Sideswipe huffed, mixing some more cubes.

"So who taught you to do this?"

"Huh? Oh, mixer named Camber. Wish I'd thought to copy his formula pad - he had some good recipes."

"Still, if you get caught..." Hound let the sentence trail off.

Sideswipe grinned at him.

"They can confiscate a batch, but they don't know where I keep the supplies. I can always make more."

"True." Hound agreed, and took another sip. "You know, if I had a couple more cubes of this, I might actually forget where I saw this stuff."

"I've got a better deal. You help me prank Curveball and I'll give you the whole batch."

Hound choked.

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because he deserves it."

Hound looked at him closely. Did Sideswipe suspect Jazz was really one of Curveball's agents? If so they had a security breach to deal with, but Sideswipe was continuing unaware of the serious tone of Hound's thoughts.

"No-one ever pranks him. Even _Prime_ gets pranked sometimes, but no-one's ever done it with CB. It's about time someone did."

"No-one does because he's always on to them." Hound pointed out, relaxing.

"Yeah, but with your help, maybe I could get him."

Hound finished his cube, thinking. Curveball _did_ deserve pranking, just for sending Meister away so soon.

"Maybe." he allowed finally. "Let me think about it for a few orns."

"Really? Great! Now what I was thinking was..."

"No." Hound cut him off. "Whatever it is, _no_. Let me think about it. It's got to be done just right."

And with the assistance of someone Curveball would never ever suspect. Mirage.

* * *

Prowl paused the the office doorway, stunned.

He had come to deliver a report to Curveball and had decided virtuously to not even hint at his irritation over Jazz's disappearance. No doubt that was the reaction the exasperating CSO wanted from him, so he was stubbornly determined not to indulge him.

It should have been a simple drop off but what he was seeing was certainly not what he had expected and he was now struggling hard to stop his entire processor from crashing.

"Prowl?" Ironhide called, approaching from the other direction amongst the many mechs moving in the corridor. "Something wrong? What the...!"

Inside, the room was littered with cubes of what appeared to be contraband high grade and a still upon which hung a sign proclaiming "2379/72/1843", the regulation which specified brig time for anyone caught in possession of contraband energon. In the centre of the room, bound to his chair by energon cuffs in a rather provocative position, was Curveball.

"This isn't what it looks like." the purple mech growled.

"Riiight." Ironhide nodded, backing away. "How about we just leave you to your little, uh, whatever, and..."

"Come here and unbind me!"

"I thought you ops mechs were master escape artists?" the weapons specialist snorted. "No way'm I getting involved in _this_."

He headed off, muttering about cleaning out portions of his memory centre, and Prowl finally managed to get past the near-crash of his logic base by suspending all function in that part of his processor. Subspacing the datapads, he stepped inside and shut and locked the door.

As much as he would have enjoyed the other mech's mortification from being gawped at by the crowd beginning to gather in hall, they had seen quite enough already and it was never best for morale for one of the officers to be caught in what was clearly a well-executed prank. It tended to challenge others to greater heights of stupidity.

"Of all the mechs I believed were creating and distributing contraband energon, you were never on my list." he said mildly, moving through the room carefully so that he did not disturb anything.

"It's not mine."

"Indeed. Perhaps you would be inclined to name your supplier, then?"

"Just get me out of this. I'll deal with it."

Prowl made sure he had a firm count of all the cubes, then edged around the irate victim to look at the energon binders.

"Well?" Curveball demanded impatiently after a moment.

"It appears we have a problem." Prowl considered, working hard not to laugh at the irony. "These aren't standard bindings - I believe they're the ones you use during your interrogations."

"So? You're cleared to unlock them."

"I was." Prowl agreed blandly. "But someone has completely wiped the settings."

* * *

It was good to see Prowl laugh. He did not do it often, and never before as hysterically as this. In fact if Sideswipe did not know better he might have thought his ever-serious friend was overcharged, but no, this was pure humour.

"In the end," Prowl continued after awhile, still grinning widely, "we had to have Ratchet amputate his hands so we could slip the bindings off his wrists. He was so annoyed about the whole thing that he claims he won't reattach them until Curveball explains in detail what was going on, which seems very unlikely to happen. On top of that, since half the shift crew saw the contraband being carted away down to the storage holds, Optimus has put him on temporary house arrest for possession until an explanation is forthcoming."

"Not the brig?" Sideswipe asked, disappointed.

"No. The problem is, it _wasn't_ actually contraband. In spite of how it looked, it was just plain mid-grade in high-grade containers with a bit of colouring. Which, you must realise, is the only reason _you_ weren't called in for questioning since practically every mech in the fleet knows you don't make mid-grade."

Prowl sighed, shaking his head ruefully.

"Red Alert's demanding surveillance in personal quarters again, Safestore's having fits over some of the equipment used for the still because it was requisitioned with Curveball's ID, and there are hundreds of pictures of Curveball doing the rounds and no-one seems to be able to trace where they started from but I imagine most of the sentient galaxy has seen them now."

Sideswipe nodded, remembering the ones that had been forwarded to him.

"So why aren't _you_ fritzing?" he asked. "I thought you'd've crashed at least once over all this."

Prowl sighed, his amusement fading.

"I'm not accessing my logic processors at all, so that helps. And since no actual crime has been committed it's not in my jurisdiction so I don't have to be directly involved. But it's also because I think I know what happened."

"Really? What?"

Prowl looked at him evenly.

"You found a way to have Hound or Mirage play this prank because Curveball sent Jazz away."

Sideswipe hesitated, not sure how to respond to that, and Prowl shook his head.

"I suspected as much. Do they know that _you_ know Jazz is part of the team?"

"No." he responded quickly. "No, I just said it'd be good to prank him - I didn't mention Jazz at all. But how'd you know?"

"I know you. Sideswipe..." He trailed off uncomfortably, then started again. "I've heard you've been spending time with Smokescreen."

"Yeah. So?"

"I'm hoping you're doing so for his own sake, and not as a replacement for me." Prowl said slowly. "I'm dedicated to Jazz, and..."

"Whoa, whoa! I told you and I told Jazz, I'm not pining for you."

"And yet, the last four liaisons you've had have all been with Praxian models, and there are not that many of us."

"So I've got a thing for doorwings." Sideswipe shrugged. "So what? Look - if I was really after you, why'd I be annoyed about them sending Jazz away? Shouldn't I be trying to move in on you while he's away?"

"Even so, your interference has no real benefit for you. What should it matter to you that Jazz is away?"

"It matters because you're my friends. Both of you!" Sideswipe huffed. "Primus, why's that such a hard concept for you? How long's it been since you _had_ a friend who didn't want something out of you?"

Prowl simply stared at him thoughtfully and Sideswipe eventually gave in.

"Whatever. So what's...?"

He was cut off abruptly by a wailing of alarms and an internal alert popping up on his HUD telling him to go to his action station. He tried asking Prowl what was going on but the tactician was already leaving the room, hurrying towards the command centre, and this was no time to be asking questions.

* * *

_"Hull breach on B-deck, compartments 7 through 19."_

_"Seal it off from 5 through 28 and flush the atmosphere._

_"There're rookies in there!"_

_"They'll be fine if they remember their training. Status?"_

_"Section sealed and venting now."_

_"We've lost corridor AF9!"_

_"Who's available?"_

_"I'll go."_

_"No, you're needed here. Send Opencast's squad."_

_"I'm getting reports of heavy casualties in section 49. They've broken through the lines."_

_"What_ _**are** _ _they?"_

_"Prime's not responding to hails."_

_"We've lost contact with Ultra Vendrix's team."_

_"Comms blackout from all of section 31 back."_

_"Inner core's breached."_

_"Radiation leak report from engineering - we can't run."_

_"Scanner's team reports all clear on the science deck."_

_"Confirm medics locations."_

_"Radiation levels rising."_

_"Tracers on medical staff show four heading for escape shuttles."_

_"Only four? Who isn't accounted f...?"_

_"More contacts! Heavy fire on port side! Brace for impact!"_

_...  
_

Boom.


	61. Part 12: Inevitabilities, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 12, chapter 3 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Prowl being callously logical.

Prowl sat in the small room, staring at nothing in particular.

The silence was unnerving after the chaos and noise of the past few groons, but he did nothing to break it. He was drained and shocked as they all were, but at least they were alive. Alive, when so many others had been lost.

All the walls were close here, the room barely more than a closet, but it was at least somewhere away from the endless questions. Even when they said nothing aloud, he could feel the pressure of their questions. Why had there been no warning of the attack? How many had died? Was Prime still with them? Was Optimus still Prime or had the Matrix been passed on?

Or lost?

He had done what he could, but he had been unable to reach the command centre and there had been too much damage done too quickly. At last count they had lost more than a third of their crew. Perhaps as much as half. Perhaps more. In truth, all he could be sure of was that the mechs crammed onto this shuttle with him had survived. They looked to him for leadership, for reassurance, for a plan.

For the first time in his life, he struggled to formulate one.

Was Optimus dead? He had no idea. The Prime's death should not by itself mean the end of the cause, and yet it would be a heavy blow to recover from. What about the commanders who had been on board? He had lost contact with all of them long before he decided to evacuate. Did any survive? How should he begin to regroup? Was there anyone left to regroup _with_ or was this shuttle the last remaining unit of the Autobot forces? How widely had the Decepticons attacked?

~Sir?~

He turned back towards the door, straightening even though he was still alone. He had told them not to interrupt him, but in fact he welcomed the distraction.

~Go ahead, ensign.~

~Sir, Chief Ratchet has come back online and is demanding to speak with you.~

Yes, of course he would be. Ratchet had refused to leave the last of his patients mid-surgery, in spite of the obvious danger to himself. Reasoning with him had not worked so in the end, Prowl had personally shot him with a stun round and had him carried off ship. Then killed the patient.

It was the logical thing to have done: the mech was dying anyway, he would be a liability and would likely not survive the escape, and even if he did they had no idea when they would next have access to proper medical facilities. Better he died unaware on the surgical table than a lingering death during what may yet prove to be a futile escape attempt.

Ratchet would not see it that clearly.

Straightening his posture a fraction more and locking down his emotional protocols as hard as he could, he settled himself at the makeshift commander's desk in the room that had once been an arms locker. He could do this. He would have to, there was no-one else to do it and Ratchet's support was too important to them to lose.

~Send him in.~

* * *

"Well?" Sideswipe demanded anxiously.

Highball shook his head.

"Nothing."

Nothing. Same answer as before. Sideswipe wanted to pace and demand some action, but lacked the energy - he had spent enough time railing at everyone around him anyway. Instead he turned to glare out the porthole.

The battle had been a mess. They had been outgunned, outnumbered and frankly outclassed. Too many mechs had attacked these new models as though they were just splitters, only to find too late that these new fliers were well trained and very dangerous. Too many had died foolishly. Needlessly. And then the transmissions from the bridge had stopped altogether.

That had never happened in battle before. Blaster generally managed to get the messages through, and Prowl's calm orders kept everyone on track, but this time it had been Spangle and Broadcast keeping up the flow and no sign that Prowl had even been present. When the comm lines had fallen silent Sideswipe could take it no longer and had taken off towards the command centre, abandoning his team.

Abandoning his twin.

He shifted uncomfortably at that thought. Sunstreaker was still alive - he could feel that - but the last time they had been separated it had been beyond their control. This time he had made the choice himself, and his brother was going to be furious.

He dismissed that discomfort easily enough: the fact remained that Sunstreaker could look after himself. They both knew they were good at what they did, they both trusted each other's ability to keep safe. Prowl, though, was another matter entirely. The mech was so rarely called into frontline battle and was poorly armed for it. He could hold his own reasonably well in a ranged firefight, but in hand-to-hand he was mediocre at best. More, his doorwings put him at a severe disadvantage. Any damage to them would be debilitating.

As for Sideswipe's squad, well he had never really felt right about being in charge anyway. And there was so much chaos that no-one was really listening to what he was telling them. They would have to fend for themselves.

In the end, though, he had never even reached the command centre. Ultra Cadronix's squad had hauled him into a shuttle, insisting that the evacuation had been called and that he could come willingly or they would stun him. He had been tempted to press that, but the radiation levels were rising too fast and his injuries were slowing him down and Cadmium had sworn he had heard that the command element had already evacuated.

Later the blocky squad leader had admitted that that last had been a lie but that it was the only way he could see to get Sideswipe to move. And the fact was they were losing this battle, losing this ship, and anyone who had not left then was basically already gone in one way or the other.

As to Sideswipe's injuries, well he would live. He had lost a lot of fluid and he could not walk or transform because his left knee had buckled, but there were no medics on board so he would just have to make do.

"Some of'em have to've made it." Highball tried to sound optimistic. "They can't all've been killed."

Sideswipe did not bother to answer. There seemed little point.

* * *

He did not like it. He was more than capable of working out the probabilities and knew what he was suggesting was very high risk, yet there was no choice. It had to be done: the _Escaphalion_ had to be destroyed before the Decepticons could access the information in the mainframe's databanks.

That data was encrypted, and as per standard protocol a virus should have been applied when they were boarded, but it was not enough. The encryption would not hold for long against the concentrated efforts of a specialist like Soundwave, and the virus may not have had long enough to do enough damage. If it had even been applied. In the chaos it had been hard to tell, but he had not seen any of the telltale signs. What if Broadcast had opted to wait in case they regained control? Spangle could not have ordered him to comply. The truth was that the Decepticons may already have access to data that could doom every remaining Autobot.

The thought steeled his resolve: destruction of the _Escaphalion_ as soon as possible was the only viable course of action. It may not save them, but delaying certainly would not help.

There were other worries, though. Someone had helped the Decepticons, the attack could not have been so devastating if not for the actions of some sympathisers on board. And since the flagship's crew was so small that everyone had known everyone else at least by sight a stranger would have been noticed immediately, it had to be someone already there. Sleeper agents, waiting for orders or for a signal or simply for an opportunity. They could have been fighting on the Autobot side for vorns before this - Jazz had done the same on the other side, so he knew it was quite possible.

He lacked the data to track precisely what had happened, but he had enough to get an outline. Someone had shielded the approach of the enemy craft, someone had opened the airlocks to let the enemy aboard, someone had damaged the communications network to stop any long-range distress calls. Chances were, at least one of those someones was in the group he had escaped with.

He looked down at the list of names he had made. None of them seemed likely to be their traitor; on the other hand, all of them could be pinned to at least a tentative motive or opportunity if he forced himself to consider them as the guilty party. But that way lay madness - Red Alert grappled with that paranoia on a daily basis and Prowl did not want to go there. He could not afford to mistrust everyone, not if they were to stay as a unit. He would have to keep those concerns silent and watch and hope. And in the meantime, he had to act.

Who to send where, though? Ratchet could not be risked in the attack, and yet who could he be left in the care of while the others were out of range? If only the twins were with him, or Jazz, or Ironhide. Mechs he knew to his core that he could trust. They were not. Primus hold them safe wherever they were, but he would have to make do with who he had and pray that he got it right.

Stepping outside, onto the surface of the small asteroid where they had landed, he scanned the group for a distinctive frame. The mech he sought was huddled against a group of rocks, perhaps trying to rest. It had, after all, been an exhausting few joors and perhaps more so for this one than for most.

He had been a volunteer in the early stages of the war but had been deemed unsuitable for actual combat. He was given a role in the support staff, cleaning and maintenance. Unusual for his type, but he had taken to his duties well and performed them efficiently, seemingly happy to stay in the background. He had been aboard the _Escaphalion_ when the transfer from the _Ark_ had taken place and had remained there, never really catching Prowl's attention. And why should he? He was not involved in the endless pranking and misbehaviour, he did his work and stayed out of the way.

As it happened, in the confusion of the attack, someone had handed this mech a rifle and ordered him to shoot. Unexpectedly, he took down every Decepticon he aimed at.

"Bluestreak?"

The mech had not seen him approach, having been dozing, but now shot up in alarm and clipped one doorwing against the edge of a boulder. Prowl's own doorwings twitched in empathy before he brought them back under control - that would have hurt - and he put a hand on Bluestreak's arm to ease him back down into a sitting position, joining him.

"May I join you?"

"Oh yes sir! Please! I was just charging a bit, well not really because we haven't got chargers to use here, but I was resting because I haven't had my charge yet because it was just at the end of my shift and I..."

Prowl let the words wash over him. One thing he had quickly noticed was that everyone either ignored what Bluestreak said, or did their best to cut him off as quickly as possible. The garrulity was not productive, but he wondered if the desperation to speak might recede if someone would actually listen. Whether it had in fact been caused in the first place by a lack of attention. Another thing he had noticed was that if one allowed Bluestreak to ramble a little, the mech would not be so tense, and a proper conversation could then be held.

There had been plenty of time for these observations in the tense but actionless groons spent fleeing from the _Escaphalion_ , praying no-one was following them.

"...want to ask me something in particular or was there something you needed me to do?"

"I am in need of someone to watch over Chief Ratchet." he said simply.

Bluestreak's doorwings fluttered agitatedly.

"And you ask me? Why me? There are plenty of soldiers here and any of them are better than me, I'm sure, and they'd all want to help out. Have you asked them?"

"I'm asking you."

"But what if I let you down? What if something goes wrong? What if I don't do it right?"

"You will do it right because I have asked you to." Prowl told him firmly. "There are many other soldiers here, just as you have pointed out, so you will have plenty of support. But I wish for you to take primary responsibility for his well-being for now."

"As a kind of bodyguard?"

"Indeed."

Bluestreak was silent for a moment, considering, then looked down at the ground.

"I'm not sure he will like that."

"I do not intend to give him the option of declining. You need not shadow him - in fact, given your obvious skill at accurate shooting I would recommend that you maintained your distance to retain the broader view. He may not even realise you are doing this."

Bluestreak looked up at him pensively.

"You think someone here will try to hurt him?"

"This is merely a precaution. Can I rely on you?"

"I'm not sure..."

"Let me put it another way." Prowl corrected himself, rising. "I am _choosing_ to rely on you. And I trust that you will do a good job of it."

It was something of a gamble. If he was wrong and Bluestreak was a Decepticon agent he had just put Ratchet in serious danger. But the probability was low and he had to trust someone.

* * *

The battle alert was not a welcome sound. In the orns since their original escape, they had done what they could to repair each other with temporary plating and Sideswipe could now stand although he walked with a limp and still could not transform. It was enough to defend himself so long as he did not have to move fast. He snorted fatalistically. Like that was really likely.

Pulling himself into as stable a position as he could while still resting most of his weight on his right leg, he primed his laser gun and shoulder cannon. He wished Sunny were with him, but simply nodded grimly to the mechs around him. He was ready.

Unlike most battles he had been in with the flagship crew, there were no calm commands given over secured channels. This was more like the early battles back on Cybertron: every mech just had to do what he could to keep them all alive and pray it would be enough.

* * *

"I'm not letting you do this." Ratchet declared without preamble as he burst unannounced into the makeshift planning room.

Prowl kept his optics on the data he was inputting.

"Your concerns have been noted. The mission will proceed regardless."

"I _rank_ you!"

"No, you do not." Prowl replied calmly. "When it comes to battlefield strategy, I rank Prime himself."

Ratchet loomed over him.

"You're _not_ going to do this."

"We must. The data in the _Escaphalion_ 's memory banks is too valuable to be left to fall into enemy hands."

"That's why you ordered the virus uploaded if this ever happened."

"It's not enough. It's not secure enough."

"Prowl..."

"This is not up for discussion."

"What about your theory that there had to be defectors in the crew to launch the attack? What if they're with you?"

"We must take that risk."

"Oh we must, must we? Slag your composure to the pit, Prowl, you're talking about getting dozens of mechs killed, including yourself!"

Prowl looked up finally, stung and struggling not to show it.

"I'm talking about potentially saving hundreds." he responded levelly.

"What happened to your plan to save _everyone_?" Ratchet sneered.

"I save everyone that I can. Some things are beyond my control."

"Like when you murdered Ultra Ibix on my surgical table? Was _that_ beyond your control?"

Ratchet's raising of that issue was entirely anticipated, and he thought he hid all of his emotional reaction to the accusation quite well.

"It seemed kinder to douse his spark then and there than to let him fade in pain on the run."

"Kinder!"

"And it happens that my prediction was correct." Prowl continued implacably. "We still have no provisions, let alone access to advanced medical facilities. He would have died here..."

"You don't _know_ that!"

Prowl stopped himself from continuing that argument. The anguish on Ratchet's faceplates told him that the medic knew full well that it was the truth and was just not ready to face that reality.

"My largest concern is that there may be a traitor amongst those that I leave here with you." he changed the subject. "But I have taken what I believe to be adequate measures against that being an issue. It is vital that you are kept safe."

"Ha. And what about you?"

"Me?" Prowl asked blankly.

"Until we know if Optimus survived, you're technically the leader of the Autobots. You're just as important as I am. More."

"Optimus led from the front. In this case, I must do the same."

"Optimus was _built_ for it." Ratchet pointed out. "You're not."

"Then I must be more cautious than he."

"Well don't come running to me when you get riddled with holes. Not until you swear that you'll never _ever_ take a patient from me again."

"I can't do that."

"Then I can't slagging well help you."


	62. Part 12: Inevitibilities, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 12, chapter 4 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some squicky descriptions of a corpse in the second segment.

As the shuttle glided silently forward, engines turned off to ensure there was no trail to follow nor signal to track, Prowl had to admit the truth to himself: he was nervous. It was a long time since he had been on the frontlines, and the first time he had ever walked into a combat situation. Ratchet was right, he should have considered remaining behind...

No. That was not an option. Everyone was petrified of these new Seekers and what they might be capable of; they needed strong leadership.

Already he had had to quell rumours that the Seekers were not mechs at all, but the spawn of Unicron himself. He did not believe it himself: he knew where the Seekers came from, they had been born of Megatron's factories and the design of this dangerous new Decepticon Starscream who Jazz had spoken of. They could be defeated, they had simply had the advantage.

The question was, without the data to identify those advantages how could he adequately prepare to counter them?

That was another reason he had to come personally. If there was any data at all he could exploit, he wanted it.

Soundwave had been aboard the _Escaphalion_ , Broadcast had identified him personally before his transmissions ceased. But Megatron had not been present, and that was unusual. Megatron liked to confront Prime personally. Could this represent a fracture in the Decepticon ranks? A mutiny against their warlord's long-standing instruction that only he was to ever attack Optimus directly? He had not vocalised such musings because it was not entirely favourable to their position. Megatron did not want to simply kill Optimus or he would have done so many times over by now. He wanted to do it personally, and he wanted to see the Prime suffer first which meant holding him prisoner and torturing others.

It had happened twice in the course of the war, that Optimus had been captured. Both times he had been held so that Megatron could gloat. Both times he had been rescued before much damage could be done.

If he needed rescuing this time, though, was there anyone free to do it?

"Sir?"

"Yes, Seaspray?"

"We're registering energy sources towards the rear of the ship."

"Autobot?"

"Unknown."

"Two breems to contact." the pilot announced.

Prowl began to activate his battle protocols.

"Do not kill unless there is no other option." he ordered, looking around the small squad. "We need information. Why is the ship still here and not on its way back to Cybertron? Who helped the Decepticons? Finding these answers might help us find Prime."

He saw their resolve strengthen and looked away. Bad enough he was leading them into danger, with the only shuttle at their disposal and so stranding the others behind them, but letting them believe he had information Prime was still alive? A gamble, and one that may yet backfire.

Through the porthole, he could see the damaged _Escaphalion_ , heavy damage to the engines clear at this distance. Around it, debris moved in slow orbit - supplies, ship components, bodies. Damage and grey necrosis made identification difficult, but he found himself analysing them absently. Was that Brawn... no, too tall. That one looked like Hoist... no, the configuration was wrong.

Tearing his gaze away he unsubspaced his rifle and rose, stepping over to the shuttle door.

"Everyone ready?" he called, receiving positive responses.

Clever use of magnets at the last moment attached them near-silently to the hull and he reached for the door controls.

"Autobots - roll out."

It felt wrong to be saying it, but there was no time to second-guess. Even as he stepped through his sensors picked up movement. The enemy was already here and waiting. And attacking. Shrapnel hit his doorwing but he did not hesitate. They had to survive and to see their mission through - it may be the only hope the Autobot cause had left.

* * *

Sideswipe sighed silently to himself, bored and unable to do anything about it. Unable to do much of anything at all, in fact.

Drifting was not good but he had very little choice; he needed a jetpack to manoeuvre in open space. On the other hand, there was no real danger out here so long as he kept all his vents firmly closed. Even if his heating systems failed, the worst that would happen was he would drop into stasis lock until someone retrieved him and thawed him. That, at least, would be an end to this boredom.

Drifting was bad because it took him progressively further from the site of the attack. If any allies came looking, they were less likely to find him. Sunny would definitely come searching when the chance came up. Problem was, that might take awhile. So. Online or offline? Conscious or in stasis?

His movement brought him back into view of the mech who had been with him when the hull had been breached. They had been thrown out on the same trajectory and the other mech had grabbed at his pede. Technically he still had hold of it, but there was no consciousness left in that grip.

Stupid glitch had forgotten the basic rule of spacewalking: _always_ close your vents. Energon would solidify in the lines over time but it was the coolant and lubricant that were dangerous. Those fluids were not designed to cope with the sudden temperature drop and the tubes containing them would shatter, tearing a mech apart from the inside. As had happened with this one. A horrible way to go.

If there had been any leverage Sideswipe would have pulled himself free of the corpse attached to his pede, but there was not. There was nothing but the drift. Perhaps offline would be the better choice after all. At least then he would no longer be aware of his gruesome companion. But if he was offline and allies _did_ come near, he would not be able to hail them. And given the desperate state everything was in, they may not bother to stop and retrieve drifters as they normally would.

Online or off? Offline or on? One way or another, he was probably going to be alone for a very long time.

* * *

Prowl swayed, even seated at his desk, and clutched at the surface with one hand to balance himself so he could keep writing. What he had learned needed to be documented in case someone else could use it. In case he was not so lucky next time.

Soundwave had been on the _Escaphalion_ not to attack the Autobots but to stop Starscream. Starscream was working to his own agenda, and had attacked without Megatron's consent. The security cameras had caught much, and there had not been enough time to analyse it all, but he had downloaded as much as he could directly into his systems. More than he should have in his injured condition but some things just had to be as they were.

"Where have you been?"

The question jolted him out of his focus on the datapad and he found he was now sprawled halfway across the desk. Pushing himself upright he discovered Ratchet glowering down at him.

"Been?" he echoed blankly.

"I've seen every mech in your squad except for you." the medic growled at him.

"Oh."

"Well?"

He shook his head slowly, wincing a little as the movement aggravated the painful gash in his shoulder.

"I still can't give you that promise."

Ratchet's jaw dropped, but Prowl was too exhausted to even care and returned his attention to the pad he was laboriously filling in with his one working hand.

"The data we retrieved suggests that Optimus remains free, although we currently have no way of determining where he has gone or what condition he is in. I was able to identify nine traitors..."

He paused briefly, still deeply hurt by the thought of long-loyal mecha like Safestore being Decepticon agents but unable to ignore the evidence. The only other option was that it had been Jazz, and if it were not for the bond he would not have hesitated to accuse him. As it was, he wondered now if Jazz's summons away from the _Escaphalion_ had been organised to ensure he was not there to interfere.

Just how much had Safestore known about his wayward assistant? A question that would never be answered now. Question? Oh yes, he was answering Ratchet. Best continue before the mech completely lost his temper.

"...and the parts they played in the attack on the _Escaphalion_. I am satisfied that no-one else was involved in that action."

Which was not to say that there were not still more sleeper agents in their numbers, only that there were no more who had been actively assisting the enemy at this time.

"Who?" Ratchet demanded.

Not a question he wanted to answer. It would only lead to more arguments. On the other hand, Ratchet was likely to find out sometime and it might as well be now.

"Ultra Ibix was the coordinator. Clearly his injuries came from one on our side rather than our enemy."

The medic flinched visibly.

"Is that why you...?"

"I took his life because it was the expedient action." Prowl cut him off harshly. "I would have done the same to anyone in the same circumstance."

"Even Jazz?" Ratchet spat challengingly.

The thought of Jazz lying on a medic's table in pieces while others debated the worth of repairing him made him shudder.

"I thank Primus I didn't have to make that choice." he said hoarsely. "Now please leave. I have a great deal of work to do."

"Prowl, you know I..."

"Leave." he cut him off harshly.

Ratchet growled but turned on his heel and was gone. Prowl barely noticed, picking up another datapad. Perhaps he could manage two downloads simultaneously? The more data he downloaded, the less pressure on his own systems, and that had to be a good thing because then he could recharge with less risk of getting stuck in stasis lock.

Even Ratchet would approve of that logic, surely?

* * *

"He's booting up now. Did you want to speak to him? Very well, I will keep you informed."

Sideswipe groaned. Someone had released the locks on his vents without giving his systems a chance to equalise again, leaving him with every part of his body aching as the fluid lines warmed too rapidly.

"Ow. What kind of stupid slagging medic _are_ you?" he grumbled.

"Actually, I'm not a medic at all."

Onlining his optics, he saw a red mech before him.

"Perceptor?"

"Yes indeed. It's a relief to have found you intact, Sideswipe. When we saw the condition of your unfortunate companion we were concerned that you had also perished."

"We? Who's we? Is Sunny here? Or Prowl?"

Perceptor looked concerned.

"Actually we had hoped you would know where Prowl was. Wheeljack and I became separated from him still aboard the _Escaphalion_. We made it to our assigned escape shuttle, this shuttle, but he did not arrive and we were compelled to leave. And since you are often with him on ship we had thought you might know if he escaped safely."

Sideswipe shook his head tiredly.

"I was with him when the alarms went off, but I haven't seen him since. I tried to get to him, but I couldn't."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence, then Perceptor began briskly tidying items on a nearby bench.

"Well. I'm sure everyone made it away safely. At least, there's no point assuming they didn't until we know differently. For all the chaos, there were actually very few casualties left behind."

"You've been back?"

"Just to look, in case we could pick up any survivors. The poor ship has been completely destroyed - intentionally, Wheeljack believes. There weren't any Decepticons there when we passed by, but it didn't seem safe to remain in the vicinity so we decided to head for Ovacalix. Which is when we found you."

"Oh. Wait. You're saying someone went back and blew it up? Autobots?"

"We weren't able to be certain of who, but yes it does seem most likely. The Decepticons would have wanted the data from the computers."

"So there's someone still out here. Not too far away, and with a ship. Prime?"

"Perhaps. We have no way of knowing from this position."

"We should go back. We should see if we can track them."

"Why?"

"Because they're probably allies. And it's probably Prime, or Prowl, or Curveball - one of the officers. Who else would do it?"

"That is a good argument. Very well, lets go and talk to Wheeljack. If he also thinks it's a viable plan, we shall follow it. For awhile at least. I'll be happier when we are back on an armed transport."

"Me too." Sideswipe agreed fervently. "A lot happier."

* * *

~Sir? Are you online?~

He lurched upright, then hissed softly to himself as the movement aggravated his injuries. Checking his chronometer he saw that he had been offline for nearly a full joor. Strange, he did not feel at all rested.

~Report, Cablelink.~ he replied, easing himself to his pedes and manually clearing several of the error messages that remained on his HUD.

~There's a mech here to see you, sir. He says it's urgent and it needs to be secret.~

~Secret?~ he asked, taking two short steps to the door.

Opening it, he found Cablelink and a stranger flanked by two guards.

"Who are you?"

"I'm called Inkblot." the black mech replied. "I'm here on Meister's orders."

Prowl stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Enter. The rest of you wait out here."

He ushered Inkblot - not that he thought for a moment that that was the mech's real name - into the tiny room and shut the door.

"You really shouldn't be that trusting." Inkblot commented, settling comfortably on the berth. "I could be anyone."

"If you harm me, they will kill you: there is no escape."

"And if I'm on a suicide mission to take out the Autobot CTO? The last Autobot officer?"

Prowl hesitated. Such a thing had not occurred to him, but Inkblot was already waving a hand.

"Good thing I'm not, isn't it?

"Did Meister really send you?"

"Nope. Haven't seen him since before the attack. But I needed your attention, and I knew that would get it."

Prowl abruptly realised he recognised this mech. The colouring was different and a bit of kibble had been rearranged and the accent changed, but it was far less extreme than some of the changes Jazz made at times.

"Curveball."

The other mech jumped, startled, then gave a tonal whistle of approval.

"Very good. Meister's right - you really should've been in ops. You're wasted in tactics."

"I save lives in tactics." Prowl dismissed the oblique offer. "How did you escape? The last I heard you were confined to quarters and lacking your hands."

"Can't keep an ops bot confined if he doesn't want to be, particularly not in his own quarters. You of all mechs should know that. As for my hands, well Ratchet's not that hard to blackmail if you've known him as long as I have. Naturally you thoroughly disapprove."

"Yes I do but it's irrelevant now. I need information. Why was there no warning?"

Curveball sighed, leaning back against the wall at the end of the berth.

"We knew they were planning something but not what. I was going to go out to check in with some contacts personally, but it happened too fast."

"That is not helpful. Do you have anything useful for me? Do you know where Optimus is?"

"He got scooped up by the _Beacon_ with a few others. He took some bad hits so they've rushed him back to Ovacalix, but word is he'll be fine. He's worried that _you're_ not, by the way. What was up with you abandoning your post?"

"I did not abandon my post - I was unable to get there in the first place." Prowl said primly. "I was off duty when the attack began, and when I was blocked from reaching the command centre I told Blaster that I was going to retrieve Wheeljack, Ratchet and Perceptor."

"No-one's seen Blaster since the comms blackout. Or Jack or Percy or the doc, for that matter."

"Ratchet's here."

"Really? Well that's one success; the other medics got slagged. Of course, you lot are now top of the hit list thanks to that stunt you just pulled going back to the _Escaphalion_. That's how I tracked you, and that's how the Cons'll do it, too. Or they would've if I hadn't messed up your trail. What were you thinking, going back there? And going personally? Don't you realise how distinctive you are - there just aren't that many Praxians in the army to start with, and no others with your colouration. Did you turn off your logic circuits or what?"

"The _Escaphalion_ 's memory banks had too much critical data for us to leave behind. The virus would have slowed retrieval but not stopped it, and there was no way to be certain which parts of the database would be corrupted before they got a specialist to work on it."

"So send in an infiltrator - don't go blazing in there announcing to the galaxy that you're still out here. Talk about making a target of yourself."

"I am not aware that any of the mecha here report to you. Nor do I believe that you are sure of that yourself since you did not even know that Ratchet was here. I have done what I felt necessary and I stand by that.

"Now you have informed me that Prime has survived and that Blaster, Perceptor and Wheeljack are amongst the missing. I can supply you with details we discovered of the identities of our traitors and you can advise me as to how to protect this base. Ultimately though, at this time and in this circumstance, I outrank you. I will make the final decisions and I will do so without requiring your approval."

* * *

Ratchet put his hands on his hips.

"You can't be serious."

Landslide put down his load of materials and shrugged.

"Could be worse."

" _How_ could it be worse?" Ratchet asked icily. "Setting up a base amidst _dirt_ and _moisture_. We'll all have rust infections by the end of the vorn!"

"I'm sincerely hoping we are not here that long." Prowl commented, stepping into the chamber. "This is merely a temporary arrangement so we can search for other survivors while near to the scene."

"Well couldn't we at least have used that metallic asteroid we just left?"

"The benefit of the soil is that it blocks scan signals. Also, you may have noticed that this location has some geothermal activity which could easily be converted into a steady energon supply - something we should value. Now if you are concerned about rust, I suggest you begin a regular maintenance schedule to ensure nothing spreads."

"Starting with you, maybe?" Ratchet asked.

Prowl did not answer him, limping away, and Landslide frowned.

"Shouldn't he let you look at that sometime soon?"

"He says he's busy. And so are we - stop gawking and start cleaning up that corner. We'll have to line it with plating for now. Primus only knows how long we'll be here, so I want a bay that's worth working in!"

His assistants quickly set to work, but Ratchet paused to stare after Prowl. The mech had always pushed himself too far, but this current martyrdom was worthy of a Prime. And if Optimus had tried it, he would have hauled that mech onto a berth - or the floor, for that matter - and got to work on his injuries no matter what he had to say about it. But this argument with Prowl... slag him, he was _not_ going to back down. Prowl had been wrong. He had been right, yes, but he had also been wrong. A patient was not a lost cause until a medic said he was. Even if he _had_ been a traitor.

He shook his head. All of this was too messed up to deal with right now. He just wanted to be back on board a well constructed ship, with Optimus and a stable command crew. Being here, in the middle of nowhere, it felt too much like the cause was already lost.


	63. Part 12: Inevitabilities, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 12, chapter 6 of 6

Prowl paused on the balcony above the main courtyard, staring down at the bustle below. He was supposed to be on a rest break, but there was simply too much to be done and he had only managed to power down for a few groons before becoming too restless to stay still. He could not bring himself to engage his recharge protocols - what if something went wrong while he was offline?

Development of the new base was proceeding quickly. Many of the soldiers had been construction workers before the war and the catacomb-like tunnels that already riddled the small planet's surface gave them a structure to begin with. Ramps and reinforcing struts appeared as though by magic, new structures in place every time he looked.

Not that he had much time to simply look.

Now that the risk of a security leak from the _Escaphalion_ had been dealt with, he had sent a small squad in their one functional shuttle to explore the system. They returned a short time later with more survivors, three more shuttles, and more information.

He shuttered his optics for a moment, recalling the witness accounts of how both Tripwire and Broadcast had been targeted, and how they had fallen. Apparently he and Curveball had also been sought by the enemy, but Curveball had been confined to quarters and he had been off duty, so neither had been where the Decepticons expected.

As for Optimus, he had gotten very lucky. The focus of a determined attack by a large number of Seekers, he had somehow been knocked offline and been taken captive. But he was too large and heavy for the Seekers to carry him far and so had stashed him in a nearby conference room and barricaded the door to await reinforcements.

Windcharger's squad had found out and had cut their way in through the back of the room, certain that they would be noticed at any moment. Meanwhile an argument broke out between the Seekers and the other Decepticons over whether Prime should be Starscream's prisoner or Megatron's, fortuitously covering the noise of the team dragging Prime out and off to safety.

Lucky indeed.

Optimus was recovering from his injuries under the care of one of Ratchet's most competent pupils, the Protectobot First Aid, but would need more recovery time so Prowl had been temporarily placed in overall command. He was also officially now Second in Command, with Curveball as Third, something the perverse CSO had actually found amusing. Thus far there was no replacement at all for Broadcast: Blaster had been found but had declined the promotion for the same reason he had always refused to be part of the permanent flagship staff, his symbiotes.

Prowl unshuttered his optics and stared down again tiredly. Second in Command. If it had come from merit he would have been pleased, but this was sheer desperation. Their cause was failing. Something had to be done to stop the slide, but what?

His optics landed on Ratchet who was yelling at one of the new arrivals, a medtech named Pipes. Complying with Ratchet's requirements, Prowl had not been back to him for treatment, but had taken advantage of the medtech's skills to deal with the worst of his injuries. What remained was mostly cosmetic and he did not wish to spend the time to deal with it. Unfortunately Ratchet was apparently unimpressed, probably seeing this as a way to subvert their agreement. Well if it came to it Prowl would put an end to the argument by sending the CMO off to join Prime: Ratchet's skill must not be lost but he need not be here now.

A commotion on the other side of the courtyard caught his attention and he felt a smile start to form as he saw Sideswipe, Perceptor and Wheeljack being chivvied through to the makeshift refuelling station that was in place until they finished the development of the thermal converters. Wheeljack was trying to catch Ratchet's attention and Sideswipe was arguing with their guide and Perceptor was pausing every few steps to take dirt samples from the floor and walls. It was a welcome piece of normality and he considered going down to greet them personally, but the choice was taken from him even as it formed.

"Sir? Message from the comms team, sir. There's a shuttle incoming. It seems to be the same one Inkblot was using."

Curveball was back from his excursion so soon? That did not bode well, the TIC had expected to be away for at least three decaorns and it had only been one.

"Have a security squad ready and scan for anyone following him." he ordered, turning towards the command centre.

He would have to deal with Ratchet and catch up with Sideswipe later. Right now there was too much to do.

* * *

Jazz wandered through the newly dubbed 'Syrenex' which had not existed at all just a few orns earlier and was now well on its way to being a fully functional base, feeling disoriented and not just by the unfamiliar surroundings.

Almost no-one greeted him. The ones who noticed him tended to frown and shift away, probably suspicious about his disappearance conveniently just before the terrible attack on the _Escaphalion_. He could not blame them. His actions did appear peculiar, and they could not know that he had barely escaped an ambush himself.

The manner in which his orders had been given, not to mention the source of those orders, had made him wary. Wary enough to double-check with Curveball on his way out. Disturbingly, the CSO had had a visit from Silencer too; the assassin informing him that Meister had gone off on a personal mission and did not want to be followed.

He could have simply stayed on board the _Escaphalion_ at that point, knowing something was up and that this was not an officially sanctioned mission, but he had elected to spring the trap to find out what was going on leaving Curveball to watch Silencer. When it came the ambush was insulting, organised by amateurs. Though even he admitted amateurs could kill just as well as professionals under the right circumstances and if he had not been forewarned and had not taken some backup with him he could have been in trouble. Well, he did not earn the reputation of being Curveball's best agent by being sloppy.

He grimaced at that thought. Curveball's best agent. No longer. Not after what had happened two orns ago.

Shaking off those thoughts he wandered into yet another room in these catacombs, searching for someone in authority. Where were they all, for Primus' sake? Wasn't this supposed to be the new hub?

He cast about, looking for someone to ask who might actually give him a straight answer, and then spotted a familiar form sitting on the floor, slumped against a wall. Surprised and concerned, he headed in that direction and peered down at the mech.

"You okay, doc?"

"I'm fine." Ratchet grumped.

Well that was clearly a lie, but at least he was talking.

"I'm not." Jazz admitted simply, settling beside him and watching to be sure that no-one was close enough to listen in.

"Why?" the medic asked sharply, activating a scan. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah, nothin' like that. You hear 'bout Curveball yet?"

"Apparently he's gone to Kalisi Station to meet up with Kup's unit."

"Yeah, well he never made it." Jazz told him heavily. "The Cons intercepted him."

"How do you know?"

Jazz's visor dimmed.

"Cause I was there. An' I was the one that finished him off."

He felt Ratchet's horrified stare and fought the urge to flinch.

"Why are you telling _me_?" the question came eventually.

Jazz cocked his head towards him.

"Cause you're the ranking officer here. Least, the only one I can find right now. Mecha keep gettin' slagged like this, next thing'll be _I'll_ be an officer."

"You?"

He pasted on a grin to hide his worry and started up with some banter to cover his slip. Primus he was tired. He was sickened to the spark by what vital information the Decepticons might have already gathered and by the thought that it could be enough to get them all killed.

And on top of all that, he missed his mate acutely.

He had been too far away to do anything useful when he learned of the attack on the Autobot flagship; in fact, the very first thing he had heard was that Prime had been captured and everyone else slaughtered. It had taken every bit of his willpower to hold to his plan to root out whoever it was who knew that Jazz was Meister. Had it just been Silencer working alone, or did others know? Lives might rest on the answer to that question, and not just his own.

What he found was not surprising, but was also unpleasant. Starscream had activated a number of Decepticon sleeper agents, ones who were so deeply under cover that even they probably had no idea what they were until Silencer had given them their activation codes. Meister had been in that position himself and knew better than to hold it against them personally, but that did not mean he would stand for their betrayal.

He had always known Safestore was an agent, even though the quartermaster himself had not. Safestore had been in place with the Autobots almost from their inception, positioned by Curveball himself before he had defected. Curveball had sworn that he had destroyed all trace of the triggers which would allow Safestore to activate as the agent he had once been, but that could not be true. Someone had found out what they were, and Starscream had used them.

Fearing that it might be Curveball himself helping the enemy, he had stayed out for longer than intended, following up on leads. Curveball had once been a Decepticon, after all, and had changed allegiance with no prior warning, so there was no reason he could not flip back the other way. It seemed that that was not the case, though. The careful ops commander had simply missed something, and it had been deciphered, and Starscream had advantage of it.

The scariest part of all was that the flagship could so easily have been destroyed from the inside, annihilating everyone on board before anyone even realised there was a problem. It could so easily have happened that way but for the fact that the crazy Seeker seemed to want to deal with his enemies face to face and show off the prowess of his creations.

Small consolation that he was now paying a heavy price for usurping Megatron's authority. It had not made it any easier for Jazz to keep his focus, all the while fearing what was happening to his partner.

He knew Prowl must still be alive, and could not have been captured or the Decepticons would have been bragging about that too, but where was he? Was he safe? Was he alright? It was worse now that he was here, so close and finally able to acknowledge him, so where _was_ he? Jazz had even dropped his side of the shielding program between them, trying to seek out his partner, but so far he had gotten no sign other than a vague sense of him being near.

"Well, at least everyone here's fuelled an' rested." he finished.

The medic sighed, shaking his head, and Jazz was not sure what to make of that reaction but then forgot to wonder about it as he felt an unmistakeable tugging. Looking up, he was just in time to see Prowl stride into the room with an entourage of half a dozen soldiers.

He was injured, Jazz noted in alarm, optics taking in the crumpled edge of one doorwing and the torn armour and the broken chevron and the pronounced limp, but he was active and able. And he still looked fantastic to Jazz's tired gaze.

Tearing his gaze away with an effort, he began asking Ratchet about some of the others. The medic gave him a strange look.

"Don't you need to talk to Prowl?"

Jazz sighed.

"Doc, there's a big part o'me that just wants t'hold him close an' jus' start up keenin' over everythin' that's been happenin'. Not really a professional way t'give a report, 'specially this kind. I think I'd better just wait until he's off shift."

Ratchet grunted.

"I should order him off duty." he grumbled. "I should have him on a repair table right now."

"So why don't ya?" Jazz asked, mildly alarmed by the defeatist tone of Ratchet's comments.

The medic shook his head but gave no answer. Disturbed, Jazz intended to push the matter but was interrupted by Prowl stopping a few steps away, waving the others around him to silence.

"Jazz - I hear you have a report for me."

He rose.

"Yeah, but it's classified. You want it now?"

Prowl's poise was perfect in spite of his injuries, and there was not so much as a glimmer of longing in his posture or tone even though Jazz could feel it pulsing between them.

"Shortly. The information I have received indicates that Curveball has been captured, do you know if that is true?"

"It was true." Jazz responded cautiously, acutely aware that others were looking at him curiously. "He's dead now."

"I see." Prowl's optics unfocused for a moment as though from exhaustion, then his gaze sharpened again. "Are you injured?"

It was a bizarre question given Prowl's own condition, but no-one else seemed to notice.

"Nah, just tired an' underfuelled, nothin' that can't be fixed easy enough."

"Ratchet, please confirm that with a full diagnostic report." Prowl ordered before turning away to face the others present, never once looking down at the medic. "Blaster - circulate a memo. Jazz has returned to us, and now his true position should be known. Jazz is not and has never been a storesbot - he is a senior member of the Special Operations team, working under the codename 'Meister'."

That made several in the crowd gasp and stare and Jazz wondered dizzily whether Prowl had any idea of the damage he had just done to his cover. His lover did not pause or react.

"Meister, and thus Jazz, is Curveball's named successor. He is now officially on the command team, taking up the position of..."

"Now wait a slagging minute!" Jazz burst out.

"...Chief of Special Operations, reporting directly to Optimus Prime."

"No!" Jazz protested. "No, that ain't right. I'm senior here an' now, sure, but I ain't meant to be CSO!"

"Blaster?" Prowl asked coolly, still facing away from Jazz.

The communications mech was gaping, but nodded slowly.

"Prime gave the orders ages ago for if CB ever went missin', namin' Meister as his replacement."

"It's been that way for vorns." Ratchet added gruffly. "Never knew who Meister was, though."

Everyone was staring, shocked, except for Prowl whose expression was serenely blank.

"Is it true?" Codex choked. "Are you really...?"

Jazz stretched his lips into a smile.

"I guess it is. Never thought my cover'd be blown like _this_."

"You should contact Prime so that he can confirm the promotion." Prowl continued. "Blaster, send that memo out then take Jazz through to the command centre and get him cleared for his new security access. Ratchet, I would appreciate your medical assessment on my desk by the end of shift. Rattlelatch - show me your new sensor array, we are still far too vulnerable in this location."

* * *

Finally alone, for a few clicks they just stared at each other until Prowl broke the silence.

"Jazz..." he began helplessly, wondering how to begin.

His partner took the lead, striding over and hugging him close. It hurt, but he ignored the physical pain easily in the delight of feeling Jazz's hands on him again.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, laying his cheek against Jazz's shoulder. "You never wanted this position, and I couldn't tell you it was already yours."

"How long've you known?"

"It was on record when I became CTO."

"Primus."

"I'm sorry because it's not what you want. But I'm not sorry it happened. We need you, Jazz."

" 'We' being...?"

"The Autobots of course. Our personal needs come second, they have to. I know you understand that."

Jazz shifted, then pulled them both down to sit on the edge of the berth.

"I get it." he agreed heavily. "An' I'll do it, though Primus knows I dunno how. But you an' me gotta talk about this cause right now I _know_ you're about t'tell me we gotta step back an' make it clear t'everyone it wasn't just cause I was prongin' ya."

Prowl flinched at the crude language and Jazz's lips quirked.

"They'll say worse'n that, Prowler. Probably already are. But I'm tellin' ya this right now: I'll be professional an' all that on duty, but I _ain't_ shiftin' out an' I _ain't_ gonna pretend like I don't love ya. I've played that game too long already, an' now it's gotta stop."

"If they think it's favouritism..."

"Let'em!" Jazz cut him off sharply. "Let'em say whatever they like. They _know_ you know your job. They trust ya. Me, well they'll have t'make up their own minds about me, but it wasn't you who put me here. It was CB an'Prime. They wanna take it up with the boss, good on'em. If I'm lucky, they'll convince him t'put Raj at the top like he's s'posed t'be. Or Bee; he's got the skills. But either way I ain't gonna play any more games. I love ya, Sparkles. Everyone knows it, so there's no point pretendin' they don't. I love ya."

"I love you too." Prowl replied, giving in. "And I missed you. I _missed_ you. It's been so hard these past orns."

"I can see that. We lost a lotta mechs, didn't we?"

Prowl offlined his optics, turning his face away and putting one audial to Jazz's chest so he could listen to the soothing rumble of the other mech's systems.

"Two hundred and thirty seven in total." he admitted. "Although some of those may still return. We've searched for survivors but it's possible we've missed some. We haven't had the chance to search thoroughly."

"Because of the Seekers?"

Prowl nodded. Jazz's hand stroked cautiously along his damaged doorwing.

"Are they who did this?"

"I was careless."

"Uh-huh. That why Ratchet hasn't fixed it yet?"

Prowl pulled away, rising.

"That's complicated."

"Whoa, whoa, where're ya goin'?"

He stared down at his lover, the mech he had missed so acutely in the recent chaos. The mech who was so hard and pragmatic about everything, but who would interfere in this regardless of what Prowl said just because he was so protective.

A part of Prowl wanted that shelter, but he was no longer the sparkling he had been. Some things he had to handle himself, even when it was hard, and this issue with Ratchet was one of them.

He reached out to caress Jazz's cheek with his fingertips.

"Do you trust me, Jazz?"

"A'course."

"Then don't ask. Please."

"But..."

"Do you want to tell me in detail what you've been doing?" Prowl asked him. "Do you truly want to work that way, living each other's lives? I'm not you, Jazz, and you're not me. There are things that... that we have to handle ourselves. If we don't, we might as well declare ourselves Neutral right here and now. Bondpairs are supposed to have only each other as the focus of their lives but we can't do that. We _can't_. Not if we're going to do the jobs we need to, not if we're going to stay part of this army. So don't ask. Please. Just trust me and love me."

Jazz looked unhappy but tugged him back down onto the berth.

"Okay, Sparkles. I won't ask. But only if you swear you'll get yourself sorted out."

"I'll talk to Ratchet." Prowl promised.

It was the best he could offer, under the circumstances.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Jazz looked up from the desk to see two friends, now his subordinates, and shook his head.

"I didn't know, Raj. If I'd had a chance t'stop it..."

"Of course it was you, we always knew it would be." Hound told him, sitting down. "You were the first, and you were always the best."

"Which is why I should still be out in the field, not stuck here behind a desk. Besides, it don't look good, what with me an' Prowl bein' together, an' I ain't givin' him up."

"No-one questions Prowl's skill." Mirage began.

"Not til now." Jazz pointed out. "An' it had better stay that way. He _wanted_ that job, an' he worked for it."

"And you didn't?" Hound countered. "Meister, no-one knows our work like you do. I know my bits, and Mirage knows his, but you know it all. You've _done_ it all. It had to be you, don't you see?"

Jazz folded his arms, frowning.

"I coulda run things from the background. Makin' me public like this just makes me a target. Makes _Prowl_ a target..."

"Prowl has been a Decepticon target from the moment he became Chief Tactical Officer." Mirage pointed out. "This puts him in no more danger than he was already in."

"What did he have to say about it?" Hound asked curiously. "He must've known for ages."

Jazz sighed.

"Yeah, he knew. An' he knew I wouldn't want it." He hesitated, then laughed sourly. "Well I guess I'm just gonna have to accept it, eh? Turns out 'Jazz' is the role I'm gonna play for the remainder of this slaggin' war, so I'd better get round to likin' it."

* * *

Optimus shook his head slowly.

"I knew there was something strange about you. I even suspected you were one of Curveball's agents. But I never connected you to Meister."

Jazz shrugged.

"That was how it was supposed t'be. You mad about it, boss?"

"Not exactly. What about Prowl? Did he know?"

"Yeah. He wasn't supposed to - CB threw a fit when he found out. But Prowl was professional about it, didn't let it cloud his judgement."

"I take it he knew before the attack on Garrus Domen, then?"

"Sure did. An' I think he only went with that plan in the end 'cause he trusted me t'handle it."

Optimus tilted his head slightly.

"You two love each other a great deal. Can I really afford to have my two most senior officers in such a strong relationship?"

"Can y'afford not to?" Jazz countered. "You c'n demote me - an' I wish ya would, really, though I know I can't go back t'what I was now my cover's blown wide open - but that won't solve anythin'. Everyone knows we're a pair, an' now I've been outed they know it's not just a quick fling with a low-cast like they thought Prowler was doin', they're actually more acceptin' of it.

"Even the Cons'll've heard about it by now. Even if we were to stage a big breakup, it'd make no difference - they know we're each others' weakness. Besides, I'm sick t'my spark o'bein' away from him. I love him, boss, an' he loves me."

Optimus nodded thoughtfully.

"Well." he said after a moment of consideration. "Since that's settled, I suppose I should let you go and get started. There's plenty to be done and top of that list is making sure we don't have any more traitors on board."

"I'm on it, boss. If they're here, we'll find'em. That I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 12.
> 
> For those following along, _Echoes: The commander_ fits here, and also the stand-alone fic _Meister_ \- lots of side-action here :)


	64. Part 13: Finding a balance, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13, chapter 1 of 5

Jazz was enjoying himself on the dancefloor, swaying to the beat to get rid of the pent up energy that came from being scheduled on comms duty for two shifts running.

Primus but he hated comms duty. And as Officer-In-Charge of a shift it was the worst. At least as the poor drone who got landed with the comms board you actually got to _do_ something occasionally; as the OIC, all you did was watch the mechs watching the board.

It was enough to drive him to violence, so he always made sure to work off some of his frustration before he ended up doing something he would regret. He had calmed down enough to start really enjoying himself and begin wondering if he could talk his mate into an early rest shift, when he heard a phrase that caught his attention.

"...titanium rod up his aft! Talk about repressive!"

Leaving the dancefloor he sauntered over to the dispenser to retrieve a cube of mid-grade, nodding to a few others in the room on his way but focusing on the group in the corner.

They were newcomers, a gestalt team from what he had heard, and while he had not yet had time to catch up with them he had had a memo that three of them were going to be under his command. Once Red Alert had cleared them, at least. Until then, they were pretty much in a holding pattern and he could understand how that would be frustrating but intuition told him it was not the security officer under discussion.

"He can't be that bad." a second mech suggested. "He's probably just busy."

"Not too busy to give me a two-groon-long lecture on the fact I'm not allowed to run with any plans without his approval first." the first mech grumbled, causing a ripple of disbelief in his tablemates.

"You've gotta be kidding, right?"

"Did you tell him you were Ultra Valden's senior tactician?"

"He can't do that!"

Several of the _Beacon_ crew looked like they wanted to intervene but saw Jazz approaching and ducked out of the way. For his part, Jazz simply dragged a chair up to the table.

"Hey there, mind if I join ya?"

They all looked mildly affronted but relaxed a little at his grin.

"How's it goin'?" he asked warmly, subsonically offering only his colloquial designation which gave no hint of his rank or role. "Welcome aboard."

"Thanks." the tallest mech nodded. "I'm Eclipse," he affixed the name with a team leader marker which Jazz acknowledged with a nod, "and this is Countdown, Jetstream, Penumbra and Grapher."

Grapher was the one who had been complaining.

"'S'a pleasure." Jazz nodded again at the group. "Did I hear ya say you were from Ultra Valden's crew? Must be a bit of a change bein' ship-board after planetary work."

"We can handle it." Jetstream told him confidently.

"If we're ever allowed to actually _do_ anything." Grapher grumbled.

"Hey, what's the rush?" Jazz asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles. "You've only been on board... what? An orn?"

"Half." Eclipse told him. "But we came here to work and we're ready to start."

"S-O-P round here's two full orns before anyone new goes on duty." Jazz pointed out. "Why not just enjoy the time off? There's little enough of it, generally."

The cool looks he got from all five suggested there was something more he needed to know about.

"What business is it of yours, anyway?" Countdown asked irritably.

"Hey, mech, chill. It was just a question. Y'don't need t'answer if ya don't wanna. Still - friendly little piece of advice before I go. _Chief_ Prowl might seem to you to have a glitch in his emotica programming, but he's saved more lives in this crew than most medics an' mechs round here respect him for it."

"For what? Being a coward?" Grapher burst out.

The entire rec room went silent, everyone staring, and the new gestalt looked about nervously at the unexpectedly hostile reaction but Jazz kept his gaze on Grapher.

"He doesn't have t'justify his decisions to you. Remember that, or it's gonna be one pit of an uncomfortable tour o'duty for the lot o'ya." He rose and turned to leave. "Eclipse, Penumbra, Countdown - I'll see ya for an orientation briefing in two groons. Til then, try t'keep outta trouble."

"What the pit?" he heard Countdown splutter as he strode out. "Who does he think he is?"

"Prowl's sparkmate and your new boss." Brawn pointed out drily.

"But we were told our boss would be Meister..."

He was too far away now to hear the answer given to that, but he certainly heard the response.

"What!"

A moment later there was a clatter in the hallway and Eclipse dashed up to him.

"Sir! My apologies, sir, we didn't know..."

"Nah, y'didn't." Jazz agreed, still walking and now absently checking his message board for any changes before he headed back to his berth for a nap, his good mood soured. "But in our line of work there ain't a lotta room for second chances. Aw _slag_."

Eclipse flinched.

"Sir?"

Jazz sighed.

"Not you. The duty roster's just been changed again. So much for my break. Forget the scheduled briefing - I'll be in touch when I've got time."

* * *

He knew it was Jazz before the mech arrived.

Although they both actively blocked the bond to keep it hidden, nothing could block the sense of the other at close proximity and the more time they spent together the stronger that sense became. He had been aware of his partner's approach from the far end of the hall so it was no surprise when the door opened and he did not even bother to look up to confirm it. He had too much to do.

"Yes?"

"Mind explainin' why I just got served a triple shift o'boredom?"

Again, not unexpected, though he was mildly surprised Jazz had waited until the end of that third shift to confront him about it.

"You were available. Others were not."

Jazz grunted, stepping forward and letting the door close, then flopping into a chair sulkily.

"Three slagging shifts of comms duty. I thought my processor was gonna start rustin' away."

"Hardly."

There was a long silence.

"Still no word from the boss, then?" Jazz asked idly.

"No. You would have been the first to hear, in the communications hub."

"That why I'm there?"

"You were there because there needs to be an officer on duty to accept any high-level encryptions that arrive, and everyone else was otherwise occupied."

"And in case Optimus called through." Jazz concluded firmly. "Frettin' about him's only losin' ya recharge, Sparkles."

He bit back on the desire to snap that it was inappropriate to use such a name when they were on duty. If the last seven vorns had taught him anything, it was that separating work from their personal lives was far harder than he had estimated it would be. Perhaps it would not have been so bad if their official positions were not so closely linked, but all too frequently the lines seemed to blur. Particularly when they were alone.

"I am concerned because the contact is now six orns overdue." Prowl pointed out. "I hardly think that's unreasonable."

"Never said it was."

"Your tone implied it."

"You really are touchy today. When'd you last take a break?"

Answering that question had no purpose. If he lied, Jazz would know; if he told the truth, Jazz would use that as an excuse to get him to leave his office. Besides, Jazz undoubtedly knew the answer anyway.

"So why'd you dress down that new gestalt tactician?" Jazz continued after a moment, point made and the topic dropped for now.

"Is that what this is about?"

"This is about why I just did three shifts o'the most tedious slag in a row, but yeah I'm curious. The mech wasn't exactly bein' complimentary of ya in the rec room. Nearly got himself lynched by the crew an' he didn't even see it comin'."

"He is an idiot."

"Ooh, strong language from the CTO. Tell me more."

Prowl looked up finally to see Jazz leaning forward eagerly and could not help but smile.

"You've got a one-track processor when it comes to gossip, haven't you?"

"Hey, I jus' wanna know if I need t'set him straight about my lover or if he just got you at a bad time, in which case I think maybe I need t'find some way o'makin' ya relax."

Prowl's engine revved at Jazz's sultry tone but he brought it back under control, leaning back in his chair to slightly increase the distance between them.

"They should never have been assigned here. Red Alert is less than impressed and I agree with him, but the fact remains that we need to strengthen our unit and with the threat of a Seeker attack a strong possibility we need some air-cover for the upcoming missions on the Helion sector moon bases. Nevertheless they are a poor choice: that team is not really here for the cause, they're looking for revenge.

"One of them, and I'm not sure which but I'm sure your team will figure it out quickly enough, was in a sparkmate relationship with a non-combatant on Mynatrix. The Seekers took out the base, led by a high-ranked trine.

"These Jetbots are on the lookout for a chance for revenge, and that puts everyone else around them at risk. Grapher, their strategist, had the temerity to come to me and demand our historical data so he could extrapolate where their targets are likely to be. I turned him down."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully.

"You realise with three ops bots on the team they're gonna keep tryin' t'find out." he mused.

"That, thankfully, is your problem not mine, Chief." he replied lightly, smirking at Jazz's disgusted glance from the use of the title then sobering. "But I will be keeping a close optic on Grapher. I will not have insubordinate mechs putting others at risk. In fact, I might assign him as subordinate to Trailbreaker, keep him away from the more important planning. Hmm."

"Do you...?" Jazz began, then paused as the commline chimed.

"Go ahead." Prowl instructed, his demeanour snapping back to purely professional.

"Encrypted message for you. Do you want it transmitted?"

"No, Codex, put it on a pad. I'll come and collect it manually. Have the memory banks purged once the transfer's complete."

"Yes sir."

"So I'll see you tonight?" Jazz asked, rising.

"That depends on what there is to be done."

"I'll see you tonight." Jazz nodded and left.

Prowl sighed, following him out but heading in the opposite direction. Life with Jazz as his equal in rank was certainly not as straightforward as he had hoped it would be. It had its perks, but the mech simply knew him too well to be fooled.

Perhaps he should try to get some rest soon, just to placate him.


	65. Part 13: Finding a balance, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13, chapter 2 of 5

It came as no surprise that both Red Alert and Prowl were right in their assessment, but it was still frustrating. In ops, even more than anywhere else in the Autobot faction, the team had to be working towards the same goals. Had to be able to trust each other. There was no room for other agendas.

"I have no idea where they went." Mirage continued his report, his tone icy. "They were not at the first rendezvous point. I was forced to improvise to complete the second phase alone, and they were early to the second rendezvous which put us all at risk."

"Anyone other than Mirage would've been spotted." Wellspring huffed. "That security override code had a one point eight breem lifespan, and we all knew that. Using it early meant there just wasn't time. I only just got back there myself."

Jazz nodded, acknowledging their concerns, then turned to Eclipse.

"Can you explain this?"

Wellspring's disgusted muttering and Mirage's penetrating stare suggested that neither of them thought the Jetbots team leader should even be present for this debriefing and that they had no interest whatsoever in his excuses, but Jazz kept his expression neutral for now.

"I've already explained." Eclipse shrugged. "When we got there we found the patrols had changed their pattern and..."

"That's a slagging _lie_!" Wellspring hissed.

"We were forced to find a different way in." Eclipse finished firmly, speaking over the interruption. "It took longer so we missed the first rendezvous. We looked at the schedule and worked out the timeframe and headed for the second rendezvous when we thought it was right."

"Those timings were based on you two carrying Mirage up to top of the spire." Wellspring argued. "Of _course_ they'd be different when you didn't do your bit. Meister, this is a farce! There was no change to the patrol pattern."

"How would _you_ know?" Eclipse asked. "You stayed out with the shuttle. Maybe..."

"That's enough." Jazz growled. "Differences of opinion're one thing, but if you're gonna start accusin' mechs of collusion I'm gonna want hard evidence. Raj, Wellspring, you two got the job done, go an' get some rest. We'll talk about the next phase later. I need to talk to Eclipse alone."

They were unhappy but they left and the jet frowned at him.

"There's nothing more I can tell you. The patrols..."

"I'm hearin' what ya say." Jazz interrupted him. "My problem is, that excuse's about as sturdy as a single sheet o'plas in an acid rainstorm.

"We _know_ the patrol schedule didn't change because we've got an operative on the inside who's as solid as they come. Now maybe, _maybe_ , a coupla the Seekers got bored an' went for a wander. It happens, they ain't drones, they don't always stick t'where they're s'posed t'be. But on my team y'don't get t'back off an' give up on others in the field just cause it doesn't happen like we planned in th'office. Once the op's started, we follow through.

"Raj _needed_ you t'be at the second rendezvous so it was your job to get there. Didn't matter how, y'just had t'be there. You weren't. An' if I'd sent anyone other'n Raj, it sure sounds like you'd be standin' there right now explainin' to me how come one o'your team got caught on a basic in-and-out."

"He wasn't in my t..."

"Careful what you're sayin' mech. I told ya when ya got here that on an op the gestalt takes second place to the mechs you're workin' with. I also told ya there's no second chances.

"If you'd gotten Raj hurt out there, not killed - Primus forbid you _ever_ put one o'my best agents in that much danger because you really don't wanna know what I'd do to you then - but hurt, you'd be in a whole galaxy o'trouble you jus' don't wanna think about. Prime doesn't condone torture but what he don't know don't trouble him, an' I've learned plenty from my time infiltratin' Con bases to know what can be done without leavin' visible traces.

"Oh I'm sorry," he added sarcastically seeing Eclipse's shocked expression, "you thought you were talkin' to good ol'tolerant _Jazz_? Forget it. I might go by that name here, but as far as my staff are concerned I'm Meister, an' I don't frag around."

"You're a maniac!"

"Pit fraggin' straight." Jazz nodded approvingly. "You're startin' t'get it now, I see. I told ya that if you worked for my team I don't play games, an' _you_ told me you three'd be up for it. But the very first mission I send you on, you're testin' me."

"I swear..."

"For the love o'Primus, mech, stop tryin' t'bluff me. I _know_ you went to the mainframe and stole some data. Raj an' Wellspring don't know that yet, but when they hear they're gonna be even madder'n they are now. At the moment they just think you're incompetent and cowardly, an' you're better off if it stays that way. Now are you gonna tell me what y'took, or am _I_ gonna tell _you_? Trust me, one way's much more pleasant than the other."

* * *

Prowl paused in the doorway, noting Jazz's position on the berth. He was lying on his side, leaning against the back wall, one arm resting casually on his thigh and the other curled under his head.

It looked like a relaxed pose, but Prowl knew from experience that it was a defensive one: back against the wall so he could not be surprised from behind, one hand ready to reach into subspace for a weapon, and the other ready to use the weapon he was concealing.

Shutting the door quietly, he turned and found that even that soft noise had roused his partner. Unsurprising since Jazz was not even plugged in to the charger.

"Wasn't expectin' you." Jazz muttered. "Thought you had a meetin'."

"Cancelled." he explained simply, moving over to the berth. "Are you okay?"

Jazz sat up with a groan, granting only a silvery glimpse of whatever he had had in his hand before it was hidden again. Probably a blade of some sort.

"Yeah. Mem'ry loops, is all. Boss is finally back, then?"

Prowl clicked disapprovingly, settling himself and pulling Jazz down against him.

"You're not supposed to know that."

"Can't keep a secret from ops."

"So I've come to realise." Prowl agreed, stroking Jazz's arm. "Relax. It's okay."

Jazz snorted.

"Relax, he says. Like he hasn't been stressed out himself the whole time Prime was away."

"So that's how you know he's back?" Prowl teased softly.

"Yup. You start takin' your proper breaks again. Sure giveaway."

Jazz's banter was light but he sounded tired and Prowl pressed a gentle kiss to his helm.

"You need to charge. And so do I. Have you defragged enough to rest?"

"I always charge better when you're here." Jazz admitted.

Prowl smiled, reaching for the two charging cords.

"Then rest. We're going to be busy tomorrow when he's had time to settle back in."

Jazz grunted and powered down, but Prowl continued watching him for a moment. He would be willing to bet that the newcomers were responsible for this bout of paranoia. Jazz was cavalier about the danger he put himself in but he was always protective of new operatives. Just as he had been of Prowl himself once he learned of his youth.

"You would've made a perfect carebot at a sparkling centre." he murmured with a smile, wondering vaguely whether that was what Jazz had originally been programmed for.

Shaking that off as an observation he was not really qualified to make and a question he would likely never have an answer to , he cuddled a little closer and activated his own charging sequence.

* * *

Jazz leaned casually against the railing, watching various mechs practising their aim against the shooting range targets. His gaze shifted to where the diversionary tactician was making bets with some newcomers, hyping them up. The Praxian caught him looking and grinned at him, but carried on without concern. A few moments later, one of them swaggered forward to a booth and fired off at three separate targets. All three fell, and his friends cheered. Then Smokescreen pulled Bluestreak forward.

Jazz sighed, looking further around the room and checking the chronometer on the wall which told him he only had a breem left before his next meeting. The timer on his HUD was working just fine but he preferred to turn it off and let himself drift sometimes. It drove Prowl crazy, but it was not officially against regulations so there was nothing his rule-bound partner could do.

At least until he grew exasperated enough to draft such a regulation, anyway.

Shouting drew his attention and he saw Smokescreen's latest victims arguing over the finer details of their bet. They would lose regardless of whatever concessions were made - Bluestreak was one of the best sharpshooters in the entire Autobot army - but for now Smokescreen continued to play the game.

Jazz stretched out his arms, letting his hands dangle over the railing. Amusements were far tamer these days than in the past. The endless prank war had finally stopped with the destruction of the _Escaphalion_ : too many mecha had died there, too many friends lost. It seemed petty to carry on with playful grudges when the players might not make it back from the next encounter with the enemy.

Even if it had not stopped he would have had to pull out himself because there was a need for him to set a better example. Visibly, at least. Prowl had never once caught him at his pranking, but now that they were both senior officers and widely known to be not just casual lovers but sparkmates there was too high a risk of mecha believing he was using that relationship to ensure a lack of consequences. It would do nothing to enhance his own reputation, and it would mar Prowl's, so that was that.

A shame, though. It had always been fun.

Gambling was also against regulations, but so long as it remained quiet the security mechs seemed happy enough to overlook it. Prowl himself had been known to walk straight past games in progress without comment so long as there were no other infractions. Fighting, extortion, or damage to property would still draw his official attention.

On the firing range, Bluestreak had now taken his position at the agreed mark. He was using the first mech's rifle - one that was ridiculously outsized for him - and his nervousness all drained away as he focused. The targets moved but he did not rush, simply watching them for a moment.

His audience jeered and teased and cheered loudly when he missed completely with the first shot. It was purely a test of the power and accuracy of the rifle, Jazz knew, and a moment later all three targets had been taken out with a single shot as they moved briefly into alignment. And before he even put the rifle down Sideswipe was there, cheering and hugging him.

Jazz smiled and wondered again how he was going to stop Prowl bristling at that burgeoning relationship.

Bluestreak's development was one of the few positive things to have come from the destruction of the _Escaphalion_. Prior to that he had been a willing but mostly ineffectual ally working in the maintenance crew. But in the chaos someone had handed him a rifle and to everyone's amazement - including his own - he had hit everything he aimed at.

After everything calmed down again Ironhide had called him up, having heard the stories, and ordered him to shoot. But Bluestreak had been too intimidated by the weapons specialist to even try, and Ironhide had been getting annoyed and the whole thing had nearly been a complete disaster, and then Prowl had walked into the room and asked what was going on.

According to witnesses who had been there, in the desperate evacuation from the _Escaphalion_ it had been one-sided love at first sight. Platonic, they were quick to insist whenever Jazz was around, but undeniable. Not that Jazz had any real concerns: Prowl was his in a way that no-one could change, and in any case Bluestreak was struck more with hero worship than amorous intentions.

Quite how those two had never before crossed paths, Jazz had no idea. They had served on the same ships for vorns, and Prowl was often present and visible when Optimus was pontificating and was easy enough to find if you were looking for him given that he spent ninety-five percent of his time in his office.

But Bluestreak had never been in trouble and was not a combatant so he had never come to Prowl's attention. And for whatever reason, until that moment Bluestreak had never actually approached him.

In any case, from that point on Bluestreak had latched on to him like a magnet. Prowl was bemused by the entire thing, commenting helplessly to Jazz that he was less than half Bluestreak's age and that it was hardly appropriate for him to be acting as the other mech's mentor, but Jazz just thought it was cute.

Particularly when that relationship led to Bluestreak meeting Sideswipe and the twins taking him under their wing, so to speak. That, if nothing else, had solidified Prowl's role as Bluestreak's _de facto_ custodian: there was no way he was going to let them be the malleable mech's only influence.

~Jazz, you're late. Again.~

~Comin', Sparkles. I'm comin'.~

~And for the last time, _stop calling me that on duty!_ ~

~Yes, sir, Chief Prowler, sir.~


	66. Part 13, Finding a balance, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13, chapter 3 of 5

Prowl nodded politely to the mechs he passed as he walked towards his office. It was a good morning. Neither he nor Jazz had been rostered on to an early shift and it had been nice just to spend some time together. With Optimus finally back safely from his most recent visit to Ovacalix the pressure had come off again for awhile, though things were still generally grim.

It had taken Optimus a long time to recover from the damage he sustained on the _Escaphalion_ , struck by what the scientists were calling a 'null ray' and then attacked while paralysed. At the time they had feared the potential impact this new weapon in future battles but subsequent information had proven that Starscream himself was the only one to wield it and that there were some methods to defend against it if you knew what to do and had the right tools.

Since that time the war had developed into a series of feints, neither side willing to risk too many soldiers when they could not replenish their numbers. Attack was met by retreat on both sides, though always more often it was the Autobots doing the retreating.

The _Beacon_ , their current flagship, travelled from base to base checking in and shifting soldiers around and exchanging supplies. It was more like a merchant ship than a ship of war. But they had little choice: there were so few ships left able to travel the great distances between each of the bases and the Decepticons were always eager to hunt anyone who tried.

Prowl frowned to himself.

They needed to retrieve the _Ark_ , and to do so sooner rather than later. That was one of the reasons Optimus had been at Ovacalix: to use the still-functioning secure line to Iacon to talk to the engineers working on the refit. It had been very slow work, given the scarcity of materials and the difficulty of undertaking any kind of manufacturing without drawing Decepticon attention, but they were getting there. Soon now.

Striding into his office, he was already planning exactly what he needed to get done in the next few groons, but his plans were disrupted by the sight of a mech rifling through the hardcopy files at the back of the room.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Grapher jumped, startled, then turned.

"I... ah... I thought I left something, but I guess not. I'll be going."

"You will be going nowhere until you explain yourself."

"Look, I want to _help_." Grapher ground out. "Why won't you let me help? I was Ultra Valden's tactician for vorns, I know what I'm doing. You have too much to do, I could help out. I want to!"

"What you want," Prowl corrected him coolly, sending a comm signal to the security office, "is to take revenge."

"Fine. Sure. That's what I want. I won't deny it. But what difference does it make who our targets are? A dead Con is a dead Con."

"And a single Autobot dead unnecessarily is one too many, and planning with a goal such as yours in mind you will kill many."

"Oh go frag yourself. Obviously you can't have anyone else do it with that rod shoved so far up your aft."

"Are you finished?" Prowl asked softly.

Grapher hesitated, then seemed to regain some confidence. Or at least bravado.

"No. I'm not. I think you're a coward. Your plans are always about running away or delivering plassheet or doing stocktakes. That's not going to win the war for us - we have to _fight_. Yes, there'll be some deaths, but we're at war. It happens."

"And what will you do when you have killed these mechs who offended you?"

"Offended? They _slaughtered_..."

The door opened behind him.

"Sir?"

"Escort Grapher to the brig for insubordination. He is to remain there for two full orns, then he is to be restricted to the residential areas. If he attempts to return to this office without a summons, he is to be immediately escorted back to the brig without delay and I am to be informed. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

Grapher glared at him but Prowl ignored both that and his insults. Settling at his desk, he began to re-organise his schedule, making time to go through the hardcopy files to identify what Grapher may have been looking at.

Half a groon later Jazz swept in, dropping a box on his desk along with a datapad.

"There. Tolja I'd get it done on time."

"Barely."

"Barely still counts. Besides, I'd've had it done earlier if someone hadn't been distracting me."

Prowl scoffed.

"You started it this morning."

"Yeah, well, that's still your fault. You jus' looked so good lyin' there." Jazz smirked at him, then nudged the box. "Now don't go eatin' these all at once - I dunno when we'll find some more. This was just luck."

"Yes, sir."

"Cute. Right. Gotta go, stuff to do. Catch you later, babe."

Prowl smiled, opening the box and pulling out a ferrous rust stick. Yes, on balance, a good morning.

* * *

Three decaorns later, Jazz was having an awful morning.

"Hound, calm down."

"Calm down! Mirage is...!"

"Mirage is no rookie." Jazz overrode him firmly. "There's no word to confirm the capture yet."

" _They came back without him!_ "

"An' we're gonna to send someone back to get him." Jazz countered. "But I can't plan that until you get yourself back under control. The worst thing of all is if word gets out we've lost someone when we don't even know if they've caught him. You _know_ that. An' losin' Raj? If he ain't caught now, the Cons'll put entire squadrons into makin' sure he is before we can get there. We have to play this cool."

Hound was trembling and paced around the room agitatedly but at least fell silent, and Jazz looked back down at the schematic. Someone had to go back in, but it would not be an easy mark. After more than a vorn of preparation they had found a window of only point seven two of a groon to access this target, and Mirage had gone in with Penumbra. There had been no margin for error.

In the decaorns since that first mission Mirage had not come to trust the jetbots, but he would work with them. They had pulled their weight and done their jobs. They had not attempted to run with their own agenda ever again. Grapher was still giving Prowl some grief, but the others had fallen into line.

Or at least had appeared to.

The news that the trine the gestalt wanted revenge on were to be present had come in just breems before Penumbra and Mirage were due to leave. Eclipse had begged for permission to slip his whole team into the base, had sworn that they would do nothing until Mirage was safely clear, had presented option after option. Jazz had turned him down and had had a stern word with Penumbra reminding him to stick to the mission.

On returning, the jet swore that he had done only what was asked. Judging by his arrival time, he had left at the very last possible moment which supported his assertion of such. But he had come back without Mirage and all he could say was that the spy had not returned to the rendezvous point.

There was no time to interrogate Penumbra for more detail. Regardless of what he had to say Mirage was now a prisoner and currently being tortured, or in hiding, or dead. The third option Jazz could do nothing about, but the first two were very time dependent. If they were going to do anything, it had to be done now, and it had to be done right.

"You want in?" he asked after a moment of consideration.

"Primus, _yes_."

"You know this might be rough."

"I'll shoot him myself if I have to. At least then he'll be safe."

"An' if they've got him an' I order you not to?" Jazz asked, raising his head.

Hound started to answer, then stared at him.

"You're going yourself?"

"Ain't no-one else here I'd trust t'do it right."

"But you're an officer now. You can't just run off on a mission."

"Watch me."

"Will Prime let you do that?"

"He ain't gonna get a choice."

* * *

The message that had interrupted the meeting was short and Optimus frowned sharply at his second in command as it ended.

"Why was I not informed of this before?"

Even as he made the question into an accusation with his tone he realised that Prowl had stiffened with what seemed to be barely controlled rage, but the tactician's response was as coolly professional as ever.

"It would appear it was a deliberate move to ensure he was not denied permission to go."

"So, what?" Ironhide frowned. "You're saying he didn't even tell _you_?"

Prowl cast a cold look at the weapons specialist.

"Why precisely should he have? He's my mate, not my subordinate. If he had, I would certainly not have condoned this course of action without Prime's permission."

"You've done it before." Red Alert pointed out, then elaborated. "When he disappeared before the attack on the _Escaphalion_."

Prowl's doorwings flexed and swept higher.

"That was a sanctioned mission and his role in it was unknown to everyone except Curveball. All I knew was that he had been sent, not where or why. It was inappropriate for me to have shared what small portion of the truth I happened to be privy to at that meeting, and in fact may have proven fatal to him if I had since it later transpired that one of the meeting attendees was an informant for our enemies."

"Are you suggesting...!" Ironhide began.

"That's enough." Prime intervened. "I will speak to Jazz about his conduct when he returns. Until then the matter is closed. Grapple, tell us of these plans for Syrenex you've been working on."

* * *

Prowl glared at the datapad sitting innocently on the desk, just where he had expected to find it. Biting back the curses he wanted to voice he strode over to it and picked it up.

"This is it."

"I still don't understand why he left it here and not in your office, or mine." Optimus commented, stepping up beside him.

"He's always claimed that our quarters are more secure." Prowl responded tightly, relinquishing the datapad when Optimus held a hand out for it. "And it's a lower risk. No-one would bother remembering seeing him wander in and out of his own quarters, but if he was seen going into someone else's office, even mine, the observer might take note of it. Particularly if they suspected anything."

"These are just music tracks." Prime frowned, cycling through the index. "You're sure this a message?"

"He doesn't leave pads lying around carelessly. And the data will be concealed, you have to know the right codes to release it. Even then, it will probably be encrypted and ciphered."

"And he believes you can clear all of those obstacles?"

Prowl vented some air in irritation and accepted the datapad back and perused the index list. Selecting three entries he set them to play simultaneously, then paused the playback two beats into the tracks and called up the track information.

Instead of the usual metadata there was an error message suggesting that the pad's small processor could not cope with the multiple functions at once and offering an option to return to the index to reset the query. That would have been a perfectly predictable response under normal circumstances but he had been expecting it and tapped twice on the error number.

Nothing happened but he waited patiently, counting out the clicks, then repeated the action.

Instead of returning to the main index screen, a new index was displayed, containing only four items. He chose the one with the shortest title and hit the delete key. The screen went completely blank as though he had turned it off, and the hidden recording started to play.

_"Hey there, babe. Sorry I'm not home for a cuddle tonight, got an invite I couldn't turn down. Old friend, y'know. I left a message wit'the boss - pretty sure you will've got it by now. If y'haven't, then we got a slip, an' you'll need t'follow it up soon as y'can. Whether y'have or haven't, in fact. Y'know what I mean. Time's all relative, a'course. Oh, an' while you're at it, keep the multi close. Still no real news on that front, but this'll be make or break so even a rookie should be able t'pick it if they're lookin' in the right direction at the right time. An' speakin' o'rookies, you'd better tell the boss it's a sure thing about that whole succession issue."_

Prowl choked at that statement, but kept listening intently as the message wound down.

_"One last thing. If y'hear I've been delayed, y'need to sort it out fast. I ain't kiddin' around here, babe - you do this right or we'll all take the fall. Word comes through, you better have that plan in place already. That said, if I'm back on time, I'd 'preciate it if y'stuck to the agreement. We both know it's gotta be that way. Love ya, Sparkles. I'll be wit'ya when I can."_

The sound cut off and the datapad gave a series of beeps, then reset to the main index. Prowl frowned down at it for a moment, then turned it off and set it down on the nearby shelving unit.

"He believes there's a possibility he'll not survive this." he reported, sifting through the message and picking out the bits that Optimus needed to hear.

"He also believes that there may be a counteragent somewhere in the senior levels who may have delayed his message to you, or at least listened to it prior to passing it on. We'll need to investigate that carefully, but it makes very little difference at this stage. Either they know he's on his way, or they don't. Nothing we do can change that.

"He wants me to make plans to destroy the Decepticon base if we get any confirmation that he has been captured. He doesn't want any time wasted attempting a rescue, simply to stop the Decepticons gaining any advantage from capturing him. And he has named his successor if it comes to that point."

"Who?" Optimus asked.

"He's recommending Bumblebee."

Optimus stared at him.

"You must be mistaken. I didn't hear his name in there."

"He didn't say it directly, but it was there. I'm certain that's who he means. Bumblebee does not have the experience of some of the others, but I know they've been very impressed by his progress, and I imagine Jazz feels Bumblebee would be the best option if both he and Mirage were gone."

"And this 'agreement' he mentioned for if he does manage to pull this off?"

"An arrangement between us that we will not permit our private relationship to affect our work. He does not question the decisions I make on duty, and I do not question him. It's how we are able to continue to work professionally together even when we disagree with what we are seeing. This time he's pushing the boundaries of that understanding."


	67. Part 13: Finding a balance, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13, chapter 4 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: torture & interrogation

"Heya boss."

Seeing Optimus jump was mildly amusing, but it only drew the faint ghost of a smile to his lips. It had been a difficult few orns.

"Jazz! When did you get back?"

"Not long ago. Thought I'd better come straight here'n explain."

"Is Mirage safe?"

"Yeah. Turns out Penumbra was tellin' the whole truth all along - things just went bad an' Raj had t'improvise. He missed his rendezvous an' had t'go inta hidin'."

"So the Jetbots are cleared of suspicion?"

"Maybe yeah, maybe not. Penumbra's cleared, but his brother mightn't be so clean. Seems kinda curious that the schedule changed on the orn Raj arrived. A bit like maybe someone did a deal, tradin' Raj for a chance at those Seekers he an' his brothers're after. If I'd been sendin' anyone other'n Raj they prolly woulda fell for it. Just our luck that Raj's such a paranoid glitch we ended up workin' out an alternative plan to the one we told Penumbra, so Grapher didn't know about it."

"Where is Mirage now?"

Jazz decided the mood could do with a little lightening and made a show of considering his answer.

"Pro'ly flat on his back with his chest plates open. Unless they never made it as far as the berth, in which case they're up against a wall..."

"Jazz!"

He relented, returning to a more serious mien.

"He's safe, boss, but we might get some leverage outta mechs not knowin' that yet. Only you know we rescued him an' only Hound an' I know where he is, so we can play it however we want. Get some more proof of who was involved."

"What about Grapher?"

"What I'm thinkin' didn't come from the kinda evidence you can use publicly. It'd be better if Hound an'I turn up again empty-handed. I can set some traps. We'll get him t'reveal himself."

"I thought you said Hound was with Mirage?"

"He is, but he's also burnin' t'get this sorted. Ops bots don't forgive this kinda thing easy. We'll stash Raj somewhere safe an' come on in through the normal channels. An' all _you_ have t'do is act like you woulda if I'd turned up like that without comin' here first. Everyone knows you're angry wit'me for takin' off like that. Keep that up an' our cover'll be fine."

"Does Prowl know any of this?"

Jazz frowned, confused.

"No. Why should he?"

"He's your sparkmate."

He shook his head.

"Ain't none of his business, boss. He does his job, I do mine."

"He's very angry with you over this."

"Not surprised." Jazz admitted. "But we got a deal 'bout stuff like this. He'll honour it. I might have t'call in some favours from friends for places to charge for awhile, but on duty he'll be professional and outside o'work that's nobody's business but our own. Not even the Prime's."

* * *

News of the shuttle's approach spread through the ship at record pace, and there was a large crowd by the time it docked. Prime stood only a few steps short of the ramp, several of the other officers flanking him, and there were bets made further back in the crowd on whether Jazz would get so much as a single word out before the furious commander began to bellow at him.

The shuttle hatch opened and there was a pause, and then a shocked gasp from the crowd as the figure who emerged was not Jazz nor Hound nor Mirage, but a Decepticon tetrajet. Weapons were raised belatedly, but even as it happened most realised that the enemy was clearly a prisoner. His wrists and ankles were shackled and Hound was barely a step behind him with a rifle.

A rough shove from the scout sent the jet stumbling down the ramp to sprawl awkwardly on the floor in front of Optimus, displaying the ragged edges to his wings which looked recently melted.

"What is this?" Optimus demanded. "Where is Jazz?"

"The Cons intercepted our shuttle on the way in. _Someone_ told them Meister'd gone out himself. This one's gonna tell us who it was."

"And Mirage?" Prowl spoke up, drawing a sharp look from Prime.

"Who knows?" Hound growled. "We couldn't get into the base. Jazz's trying to lead them on a chase so he can get close enough to find out, but what _I_ want to know is who sold us out."

The Decepticon was struggling back to his pedes, tangled in the energon chains, and Hound callously kicked at the back of his knees.

"Stay down til you're told to move."

"Slag you!" the jet hissed. "I'm not telling you _anything_."

"We'll see about that." Optimus intoned. "Ironhide - get him down to the brig. Prowl - get these crowds cleared and make sure our comms lines are locked down. We don't need this spreading any further."

Ironhide gathered up some other mechs then hauled the jet roughly to his pedes. Prowl did not pause to watch, turning his attention to the audience who quickly dispersed rather than meet his stern gaze. But a few lingered long enough to see the tactician glance down at a pool of lubricant and energon that had been left where the prisoner had been lying and take half a step towards it before turning away.

"Clean this up." he ordered no-one in particular.

Then he was gone.

* * *

Prowl stood at Red Alert's side, outwardly impassive, watching the interrogation session through the screen in the secure room outside of the chamber.

Optimus did not condone torture but he allowed his interrogators to withhold medical attention if the damage was not life threatening and he would permit conditions of 'discomfort'. Curveball had wrung those concessions from him centuries ago. Within those bounds, he would allow interrogation and would not personally interfere or be involved; he relied on his senior officers to ensure that those rules were adhered to.

Currently, this prisoner was 'discomfited'. He was bound to a chair, his damaged wings held up and back on an unnatural angle that made Prowl's own doorwings ache just to see it. He had been refused all sustenance and any opportunity to rest.

And all the time, the questioning continued.

The door quietly opened to admit Signalpost, one of Red Alert's lieutenants, who approached them.

"Sirs. Ironhide is requesting permission to use a shockrod."

"Be sure to use the ones with the locked settings." Red Alert waved the request through.

"Yes, sir. Prowl, sir?"

The shockrods in question were not nearly as powerful as the ones the Decepticons used, not as even as strong as the ones Curveball had used in the past, but nor were they toys. Optimus had never approved their use, but nor had he specifically excluded them so there was a degree of latitude: if both of the observers approved, it need not be asked of the Prime directly.

He considered the prisoner. So far there had been no information they could use. It was going to take more than this, that much was clear. Assuming that he knew anything at all to tell them. The idea that this prisoner had nothing at all of use to tell him was worrying him most of all and yet there must be something, else why was he here?

"Tell Ironhide to be judicious in their use. Ratchet will not be pleased if he has to be summoned, and this mech is already leaking."

Signalpost acknowledged the order and left again as quickly and quietly as he had come. Red Alert glanced across at him.

"I'm sure they'll send word the moment there's any news of Jazz."

"Of course."

"No news is good: it means they haven't caught him yet."

Prowl had no answer to that, optics still fixed on the prisoner before them, and after a moment Red Alert also returned to watching.

* * *

Hound watched from the end of the corridor as the guards left the brig and his hologram-covered ops agents took over their shift. With all witnesses gone, the six operatives moved efficiently. The prisoner was put offline and whisked out of the cell. A bit of manoeuvring got the insensate jet crammed into an innocuous-looking crate which was then quickly concealed with its own hologenerator to look like an empty medical stretcher.

Cameras were diverted cleverly, or looped briefly through old footage, to show only glimpses of the passage of the two stretcher bearers complaining that they had been summoned unnecessarily. Near to the repair bay there was a power surge and the cameras unfortunately lost all track of them.

Two decks down and three corridors over, a group of mechs struggled with a group of large crates. A supervisor complained that the count was off, that they were one crate short, and an argument started. But then someone called out that they had found it and the final crate was hauled into place. The shuttle fully loaded at last, it was finally given permission to leave.

Hound hid in the hold for a full six breems, waiting to get beyond the general tracking area of the _Beacon_ , then quickly began to unpack the crate. Two others joined him and together they soon had the offline prisoner laid out on a medi-stretcher, hooked into a charger and a fuel line.

"He's a mess." Nickelplate muttered, shaking his head.

"Just get him recovered enough to talk to Meister when he gets here." Hound told them coldly.

The two medtechs did not bother to argue, working together to repair the worst of the damage and regularly scanning to check their progress. It took longer than Hound liked, but finally they moved back.

"Alright, he's ready to come back online."

"Don't see why we needed to bother when you're just going to mess him up again." the second muttered.

Hound ignored the complaint.

"Go back to the main cabin. Do your run like you're supposed to. You won't see us again."

* * *

Meister came online aware that he had been repaired and that that _should_ mean the plan was going just fine, but not ready to rely on that even when the first face he saw was Hound's.

"We're clear." the scout reported. "We made the transfer between shuttles without being noticed, and back on the _Beacon_ they've only just realised we're gone."

"Boss-bot's gonna be mad." Meister whispered, starting the modifications to return his vocoder to its normal settings.

"Prowl more than anyone, I think." Hound countered. "I'd swear he suspected it was you."

Suspected? No, there was no question of suspicion: Prowl had known, the bond between them could not be fooled by sorcelling. Prowl would be livid, but these things could not be helped.

"Raj still pilotting?" he asked in his own voice, struggling to sit up and grateful when Hound reached out to assist.

"Yeah."

"You might wanna go join him for a bit. This's gonna take awhile."

"Just get on with it. The sooner you're yourself again, the sooner we can get you to a proper medic."


	68. Part 13: Finding a balance, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13, chapter 5 of 5

"This is unacceptable!" Optimus growled. "Who did this? Where were the guards?"

"We're still analysing the surveillance." Red Alert grimaced. "It was professionally done."

"That much is obvious." Prowl frowned, shaking his head over the brief report the security team had put together.

"How does an injured tetrajet get all the way from the brig to the disposal smelter in the first place?" Optimus continued.

"Some mechs were pretty steamed at him." Ironhide put in uncomfortably, not at all pleased that the guards he had personally selected had been fooled. "The ops mechs most of all. And they've got the skills."

"But how does smelting him help Mirage or Jazz?" Blaster threw up his hands in exasperation.

"No-one says they did." Ratchet pointed out. "Just because the binders and a few greyed parts were found there doesn't mean they actually killed him."

"Very true." Prowl agreed firmly. "If in fact the entire operation were planned by special operations agents, it is far more likely that this is a cover to keep the prisoner functional where they can interrogate him personally."

Optimus' fists clenched in anger, but whatever he was thinking did not get said as Trailbreaker entered.

"We've just had a message from Hound. He's got both Jazz and Mirage and they're on their way in with information on who was involved, but they need medics on hand."

"What _now_?" Ratchet hissed, rising.

"I want those three brought straight to me." Optimus warned. "I want to know what's behind all of this."

"I agree." Prowl spoke up, his tone cold and his doorwings flared threateningly. "They need to explain."

 _ **Jazz**_ _needs to explain_ , the others translated silently, Prowl's meaning completely clear.

"What's the bet _he's_ the one who needs Ratchet?" Blaster grumbled.

"If he does not as yet, he may well do later." Prowl assured him frostily, then nodded to Optimus. "With your leave, I would like to join the security detail assigned to escort them back here?"

"Granted."

Prowl turned away, but then there was another commotion at the door and Windcharger burst in.

"Prime! The Jetbots have turned up at the brig demanding to be incarcerated. They say they can't be trusted!"

Prowl's doorwings dipped, then steadied.

"Obviously this should take priority. Prime, please tell Jazz I expect a very detailed report from him when I return. Red Alert, with me."

* * *

Red Alert watched silently as Prowl talked to Eclipse, impressed by the CTO's professionalism as the plans Grapher had contrived were revealed. He had always known that these bots would be trouble but he had never imagined how much time and effort they might put into unsanctioned planning. If the Chief Tactician had been anyone other than Prowl there would have been energon on the floor by now; as it was the often cool Praxian was downright icy, not helped by the fact that the majority of the plans involved getting Jazz out of the way because the ops contingent of their gestalt were wary of their commanding officer.

As they should be, Red Alert approved even as he scowled at them. He may not like what the ops unit did or how they went about it, but it was vital that the mech in charge kept tight control over his agents and Jazz at least seemed to manage that.

The sheer amount of planning the Jetbots had done was incredible, but that was not why they were so abruptly confessing. They had given themselves up because they claimed they had _not_ been behind what had happened with Mirage and Jazz now and they did not want to be held accountable for it.

Prowl pointed out that they had not been officially named as suspects, let alone as responsible, but Eclipse insisted that it was the unofficial side that worried them most; they feared the crew might act without official sanction. They wanted to get off the ship before that happened.

Before Jazz got his hands on them, Red Alert suggested, and got a grudging agreement that that statement was accurate.

It was highly tempting to insist that Jazz be the one to personally deal with them. Red Alert considered that for a moment, savouring the thought of scheduling some unavoidable camera maintenance at the same time so that whatever happened could not be officially recorded, but there was also the very real temptation to just get them off his ship and away to where they could not cause these problems in the future.

If there was a way to manage both, he would be very pleased.

Disappointingly, Prowl seemed only interested in the latter.

"Their plans were heavily flawed, none of them would have worked in the way they assume." Prowl mused as they headed back to the command deck. "If they were a real threat we would have to act in some way, but as it is I just want them out of the way."

"They'll cause trouble wherever they go." Red Alert predicted.

"Perhaps. I'm thinking of sending them to the Wreckers."

Red Alert nearly choked, then grinned broadly as the consequences registered.

"They'll tear them apart!"

"They will keep a closer optic on them than most can afford to." Prowl said firmly. "We cannot afford to be wasteful, and a gestalt is an important resource. Their energy simply needs better channelling."

"They'll get that." Red Alert approved. "Can I be the one to tell them?"

Prowl slowed, glancing across at him curiously.

"Certainly, if you wish. Red Alert? Where are you going?"

"Well there's no point putting it off. I might just go and tell them right now."

"But their transport won't be ready for joors yet."

Red Alert grinned, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

"I know. Gives them plenty of time to _worry_."

* * *

_Epilogue_

Prowl paused in the corridor, gathering what remained of his tattered patience. The brief outline Jazz had given Optimus did nothing to ease the roiling emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, and hearing from several sources that Jazz was indeed injured did not help. Of course he had already known Jazz was injured; had stood and watched many of those injuries be inflicted, all the while wondering how much more he could bear to observe without going insane.

Feeling as ready as he was going to get, he entered the room and locked the door behind himself, then turned to look. Jazz was perched on the edge of the chair at Prowl's desk, looking exhausted and uncomfortable but back in his normal form, and Prowl's spark clenched at the sight of the usually pristine plating so scuffed and dented. Jazz stirred, straightening stiffly, and Prowl moved across to stabilise him as he tilted painfully to one side.

"You should be charging."

"Wasn't sure you'd appreciate findin' me there after all this slag I just put ya through. Thought you might prefer I found somewhere else t'be for a bit. Hound offered their couch..."

Prowl shook his head and reached out a hand to pull Jazz up to his pedes. The injured mech accepted the assistance, hissing sharply as he moved. Together they shuffled slowly to the berth and settled on the side.

"You know I wouldn't normally ask," Prowl said after a short pause, "but you owe me this much at least. You knew I was there watching. Is that why you prolonged it? Was it a test of how far you could go before I could no longer bear it and had to give you away?"

"Wasn't intended that way."

"But once you were there?"

Jazz did not reply for several breems.

"Actually," he murmured finally, "I was expectin' ya t'veto the shockrods. I started wonderin' if y'were really still watchin' at all."

Prowl stared at him in dismay.

"I could have saved you that?"

Jazz gave him a pained smile.

"Shows I shouldn't try t'second guess ya, hey?"

"But you were refusing to reveal the names!"

"Who said I knew any to reveal?"

"Optimus."

Jazz recoiled a little, then swore softly.

"The slagger wasn't meant t'tell ya."

"I don't understand this, Jazz. Any of it. Grapher wasn't even involved, so why did you think he was? And if you had proof, why didn't you just say so? What was the point? Why go through the whole performance of pretending to be a prisoner and allowing...?" He cut himself off with an effort and refocused. " _Why_ , Jazz?"

Jazz sighed.

"I didn't _know_ it was Grapher, that's the whole point. The clues we'd found suggested someone here was talkin' to the Cons, but they didn't name him. For all I knew it coulda been someone else on board, or even just coincidence an' no-one at all. I needed whoever it was to be nervous that I was about t'get them in trouble, an' since Grapher was the most likely I wanted Optimus focused on him t'make the fragger squirm an' maybe give somethin' away, but I didn't _know_."

Prowl shook his head slowly, feeling dizzy as he absorbed the truth that Jazz's suffering had been for no purpose at all but refusing to crash now. He locked down his logic programming tightly.

"How can we be together the way we are and still not understand each other?"

"Primus only knows." Jazz grunted, shifting gingerly. "Just... if it ever happens again, can I get ya to lay off the hard stuff? Hide's a slaggin' sadist."

"It's never going to happen again."

"Sparkles..."

"No. _No_ , Jazz. Next time, I'm calling a stop to it. I am never, _never_ going to stand there and watch that again. Do you understand me? This is not about our work, you did not _need_ to do this. Not this. You went to save Mirage and you saved him - the rest could have been done another way. You're worried I'm angry with you? I _am_. I'm furious that you would treat this like a _game_. It could have gone wrong. You could have been killed."

"Hide would never..."

" _You could have been killed_!" Prowl railed, shaking so hard his transformation plates rattled. "Mistakes happen. You set yourself up so everyone here would hate you - what if one of them had decided to take matters into their own hands? You can't predict everything, no-one can. The risk... Primus. You truly don't see it, do you?"

He stared at Jazz in incomprehension, unable to tell if his partner understood what he had gone through, and stated the worst of it as plainly as he could.

"When you disappeared, I couldn't be sure if it was intentional or not. I didn't know where you were."

"You knew I was alive." Jazz mumbled.

"I didn't know if you were _safe_. I didn't know who had taken you. I _hoped_ it was Hound, but I didn't know. You could've still been aboard this ship somewhere, in serious danger and I couldn't have saved you. I wouldn't have known where to start! You could've been _anywhere_!"

Jazz placed one hand on Prowl's knee.

"I'm sorry. It was under control, I shoulda toldja."

"You shouldn't have done it at all." Prowl vented, but his energy for this argument was waning.

Orns of worry and stress had drained him emotionally and he was palpably aware of how carefully Jazz was holding himself. It was more than he could bear to leave his mate in pain when he could finally do something about it.

"Have you been to Ratchet at all? You're still a mess."

Jazz grunted sourly.

"He took one look at me an' figured it all out an' said t'come back tomorrow. Said I deserved what I got for bein' stupid. I guess I do."

"I'll call him. You're not going to get any charge in this state."

"Thanks. I'm tired."

Prowl gave him a searching look.

"You truly don't see it, do you?" he repeated, his tone softer this time.

"See what?"

"What upsets me the most."

Jazz's visor dimmed.

"You're upset cause I scared ya. I coulda killed both've us."

"I'm upset because you aren't concerned with your own welfare." Prowl corrected him. "I thought you had recovered from this dangerous fatalism, but I was wrong. You just hide it."

Jazz was silent but Prowl was prepared to wait him out and finally his partner stirred.

"We're losin' this war, Sparkles. Cybertron's a mess, Ovacalix is only just holdin' on, we keep losin' more soldiers every day. How much more can we take?"

Prowl wrapped his arms carefully around his depressed bondmate, holding him close.

"We have not lost yet. Optimus will not give up, and neither will I."

"I don't have that kinda strength o'faith. I need somethin' t'hope for an' all I'm seein' is death."

"Have faith in me. In us. We'll make it through this, and if we don't," he continued quickly when Jazz started to protest, "then we'll go together. Whatever happens, no-one can take that from us. And as long as you and I are here there's still hope, and nothing in the universe can separate us. Not now, and not ever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 13.


	69. Part 14: Truth will out, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 1 of 10

Jazz passed control of the command deck to Red Alert and headed down the corridor to get some energon. There was a small room at the far end which had once been the _Beacon_ captain's personal space but had been handed over to Optimus when Prime had come aboard. Optimus was less concerned with appearances and had seen the private space as a luxury he did not need, so it was now a fuelling space for use by anyone on duty on the command deck, though mostly only the senior staff used it.

For now, there was only one mech inside.

"Quiet shift?" Prowl asked.

Jazz nodded, heading for the dispenser and entering his access code.

"Real quiet. Want a refill?"

"No, this is my second."

Jazz hummed in comprehension, moving to join him at a table. Energon was now strictly rationed due to a successful Decepticon attack on one of their supply stations. As command staff they could override the system at need, but there was no need now. Not with everything so calm.

"I confess," Prowl mused, "I had expected some attack would be attempted with Elita on board."

"Crew's pretty small now." Jazz shrugged. "There might be a sleeper or two left, but I think we've finally smoked out any active agents. Everyone left knows how important it is that the Cons don't know she's here."

Prowl nodded, sipping at his energon.

"It has done a great deal for morale, knowing we can slip her away from Cybertron without the Decepticons realising. The crew have not been so positive since before the attack on the _Escaphalion_. That is a good thing."

"Must be, if even you're noticin'." Jazz teased.

"I am hardly oblivious to what goes on around me."

"Yeah, but you don't usually survey levels o'satisfaction. Come on, who've ya been talkin' to? Sides?"

Prowl considered him for a moment, then relented.

"Oh very well, Bluestreak informed me."

"Visitin' ya on duty? Mech, you're goin' soft!"

"Hoist has finally obtained the components for the upgrades Bluestreak wanted. They will be installed tomorrow. Bluestreak came to ask if I would keep him company during the installation."

"An' of course y'said yes."

"Well, it is a very small thing."

"Sorta thing a good mentor does, right?"

"I suppose."

Prowl looked slightly uncomfortable at the admission, and Jazz leaned over to kiss him gently.

~Age has nothin' t'do with it, Sparkles.~ he murmured across a comm line. ~He trusts ya.~

"So it does seem." Prowl agreed, pressing their helms together briefly in gratitude for the vote of confidence, then leaning back. "I hear you've put Bumblebee on the detail to see her to Ovacalix?"

"Yeah. Problem with that?"

"No, I'm just curious. You're expecting trouble?"

"I'm always expectin' trouble. That way I don't get so many surprises when it happens."

"Many would say the same of me."

"Same's true of you." Jazz smiled. "It's why we get on so well."

"Oh is _that_ why?" Prowl teased back.

"Well, somethin' like that."

"Hmm. Well perhaps we..." Prowl began, matching his smile, but then that expression flickered a little and his attention turned inward.

A moment later he finished his energon quickly, rising.

"Duty calls?" Jazz asked, not seeing any signs of real agitation in his mate.

"It does. Apparently Sunstreaker was seen carrying one of the minibots to the holds."

"Last time it wasn't nothin' more'n a few scrapes." Jazz pointed out. "An' Jumper earned what he got."

"Earned or not, those 'few scrapes' put him off active duty for three orns. I would avoid a similar outcome today if I could. I'll see you after eighth call?"

"Sure will. Good luck."

* * *

"Shall I come back later?"

The question roused Optimus out of his contemplation of the stars and he looked over at the door to see Prowl standing there. Checking his chronometer he saw that it was nearly a full breem past the time for Prowl's regular shift report and he grimaced, returning to his desk and waving his tactician in.

"You should have interrupted me sooner."

Prowl took his usual seat and began neatly laying out small piles of datapads on the desk.

"In fact, I have only just arrived."

"You're running late? Because of Sideswipe? Or was it Jazz this time?"

Prowl smiled faintly, shaking his head.

"Neither, for once. Bluestreak asked me to accompany him during the upgrade to his targetting system and it took slightly longer than I had anticipated."

Glancing to his left Optimus saw a message from Prowl blinking on the desk terminal amongst several others that he had ignored. Naturally his trustworthy SIC would not have failed to inform him when delayed.

"Everything went well?"

"Yes. My presence was somewhat redundant."

"I'm sure it made Bluestreak feel better to have you there."

Prowl nodded slightly, then started in on his formal report. Optimus listened, but his thoughts were drifting and after a moment he realised that Prowl had stopped.

"Continue."

"There is nothing urgent in any of this. Shall we resume tomorrow?"

"Thanks to you and Jazz, I have just had three full orns off duty." Optimus pointed out, shaking himself. "Keep this up and I'll begin to suspect you're trying to take over."

"You rarely take any time for yourself, or your mate. No-one begrudges you some rest."

"We each have our responsibilities to think of first."

"It's good for crew morale for them to be aware that you have not simply abandoned her."

"You're getting quite blunt lately."

"As blunt as is required." Prowl retorted evenly. "And as I recall, you and Ratchet were quite blunt when you insisted Jazz move in with me after Luciana's destruction. At the time you had no idea how that relationship would develop and you still made it clear that it was improper to waste opportunities for happiness. I am simply returning the favour now that Elita has left Cybertron and it is feasible for you to do so."

"I'd forgotten that. It's strangely difficult to remember you've only been together for a couple of centuries. Elita and I were far more selfish of our time at your stage... but then I suppose we were lucky enough not to have the same pressures from the war."

"Perhaps not then, but now."

"Persistent, aren't you?"

"Tenacious, I am told." Prowl agreed smugly, collecting the pads up again. "There truly is nothing in these reports that cannot wait."

"What about the scenario outline I sent you?"

"I have shelved that request for later consideration."

"I want it considered now."

Prowl did not answer immediately, stacking the pads neatly to one side for Optimus to read later then leaning back in his seat and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

"There is a reason you employ an office of staff to do your planning." he said finally. "You'll note that none of us have ever suggested anything remotely like what you are proposing. I strongly recommend that we delay on any action for the present."

"It's your job to make ideas work. And this is important, Prowl."

"I understand that, but it is also highly inadvisable. We have access to none of the appropriate infrastructure. There is no base secure enough for such a venture and I have no satisfactory way of ensuring long term security even if such a location were available."

"Nevertheless, I insist that we try. Surely you didn't just dismiss it out of hand?"

"I gave the request due consideration, just as I do for every request, but the risks are simply too high. Your proposed solution will not work and I have no immediate alternative to offer. The potential damage to morale is unjustifiably high: it would be devastating."

Optimus regarded his tactician in frustration.

"We must do _something_. We're outnumbered and outmatched, but I've never known you not to have at least a potential solution prepared. You're not simply blocking this because of pre-war prejudices?"

It was a low blow and Prowl's doorwings arched just slightly, perhaps betraying a hint of indignation.

"I have no such bias."

"Then find a way. Our race, our culture, all that we have fought for - it cannot have been in vain. I'm counting on you."

Prowl shook his head, rising, his doorwings returning to their normal angle but his motions brisk and his words clipped; a clear sign to anyone who knew him well that he was annoyed.

"I will investigate further as requested. But I make no promises on finding a viable solution - I will not put lives at risk attempting the impossible."

* * *

Jazz signed off on the shift reports and dismissed the team leaders, ignoring their curious glances. This routine was usually Prowl's job, not his, and there were already dozens of rumours circulating as to what their SIC might be working on that was taking all of his time. Jazz himself did not know, he had not so much as seen his partner since that brief meeting over energon two orns ago, but he had his staff keeping track of those rumours and adding a few choice ones of their own. There was no way to stop the rumour mill, but he could dilute it with some carefully manufactured gossip.

Leaving Codex in control while he made his rounds, he went and spent a few breems in one of the rec rooms he had not visited recently. The speculation continued around him but they all knew better than to ask directly. So he chatted with a few of them and promised to meet Blaster later for a gambling round in the other mech's quarters, then grabbed an extra cube and wandered out again.

Stopping back at the command centre he confirmed that everything was still quiet then headed across towards the other side of the ship, not so incidentally choosing a route that would take him past Prowl's planning room. The bond told him what he needed to know, but he paused at the open door across the hall and nodded to Smokescreen.

"He's still in there, huh?"

The Praxian shrugged.

"Where else would he be?"

"An' he's still keepin' you an' Breaker outta the loop?"

"So far. Hey Jazz, want in on the latest books?"

"What's runnin'?"

"Plenty." Smokescreen grinned, pulling out a datapad and handing it over.

"You know Prowler'll have ya scrubbin' down the deckplates when he catches ya still doin' this. An' he _will_ catch ya."

"You could help stop him from noticing."

Jazz snorted, flicking through the options.

"An' maybe give him more proof I'm condonin' it? No chance, I'm in enough trouble already. He threw a fit when he found my name in the pool on whether or not Blue'd get his chevron reshaped t'match Prowl's even if I _did_ bet against it."

"Is _that_ why you did all those back to back shifts on the command deck?" Smokescreen asked curiously.

"Yeah. Mech knows I _hate_ playin' OIC on a dull shift." He paused, then entered a quick search query and chuckled. "That made the books too? You're way too bored. Nah, Smokey, I think I'm gonna hold off for now. Nothin' in there interestin' enough t'have a go at."

"Fair enough." Smokescreen nodded, accepting the pad back. "Well, back to work I guess."

Jazz nodded back to him, then paced across the hall and paused outside the closed door. He had left things alone for long enough; time to interfere. His access code allowed him entry and he walked in unsurprised to find Prowl did not even look up from the terminal where he was working.

The hardline connection, the wire trailing from Prowl's wrist to the input port on the terminal, showed that he was using his own processor rather than the terminal to develop the scenario: the terminals aboard the _Beacon_ did not have the power of those on the _Escaphalion_ so it was actually quicker for Prowl to do it manually. Quicker, but also more tiring.

Moving to stand behind him, he slipped his hands around Prowl's waist and pulled him into a gentle hug.

"You gonna take a break, babe? You've been at this for two orns straight now."

There was a long pause as Prowl shifted the current scenario over to the computer to analyse, then he relaxed in Jazz's arms, leaning in to the embrace.

"Soon."

"Oh yeah? How soon's soon? Have you even fuelled today?"

"Smokescreen brought me a cube just a groon ago."

"You should let him an' Breaker help. That's why they're here, remember?"

"Did Optimus tell you what he wants?"

"Nope. Says you're dealin' wit'it."

"I am attempting to."

"It's that secret y'can't delegate any of it?"

"I cannot delegate a task when even I don't know where to start."

"You've been working two orns - you tellin' me you've just been in here runnin' a screensaver?"

Prowl's helm dropped tiredly back against Jazz's shoulder.

"He's asking the impossible. Every scenario I run just ends in disaster. This one will too; it's inevitable."

Jazz frowned, glancing at the data streaming across the terminal screen. He did not have the skillset to interpret it the way Prowl could, but he could see the complexity of it.

"Maybe I should have another word wit'him then." he mused. "If my mechs could get you a bit more data, maybe..."

Prowl straightened with a soft sigh, pulling away and disconnecting from the terminal, coiling the connection back into his wrist.

"It's not an attack: that I could assess far more easily because it has a finite set of outcomes. This does not."

"You're soundin' pretty fatalistic there, Sparkles. It ain't like you. Maybe you should take a break, eh? Come back to it fresh?"

Prowl stared down at the screen, not answering, and as Jazz watched it flashed red. Along with the detailed scripts that streamed past was the one piece of information that Jazz did know how to interpret: the likelihood of success. Eighteen percent.

"Ouch." he winced. "I've never seen you fall below seventy!"

Prowl grunted, cancelling the scenario and deleting it.

"Well now you have. And that's the best option I've had so far." He shook his head to clear it. "I need to find a new angle on this. Perhaps a break will help. You're still on duty?"

"Sadly, yeah. Just stopped in t'make sure you got your ration."

"Could you stay for a few breems?" Prowl asked, heading over to the small conference table and sitting down. "I could do with a fresh perspective."

"Sure y'should be tellin' me if Prime hasn't?" Jazz asked, joining him and putting his pedes up on a spare chair then unsubspacing the cube he had brought and handing it over.

"Better you than my staff."

"Okay, shoot."

"Put simply, Prime wants to encourage the creation of sparklings."

Jazz cocked his head to the side, unsure if Prowl were trying - and failing - to tell a joke.

"Seriously?"

Prowl nodded tiredly.

"He is deeply concerned about how few Cybertronians are in fact left functioning at this stage and feels that if nothing is done soon we run the risk of dying out completely. Beyond that he also fears that our pre-war culture will almost certainly be lost if we do not do something to ensure its continuation, and that it must be _us_ who act to prevent that loss. The Neutrals cannot be relied upon to carry the burden any longer; they are too few and too scattered, and they have also shown themselves to be selective about which parts of our heritage they wish to retain.

"The Decepticons outnumber us but most of those numbers are made up of Seekers and those created in Megatron's factories and have no knowledge of anything other than this war. There is no indication that the Decepticons can produce non-military programming, nor any reason to believe that they would make the effort to try. Their supplies are supplemented by raids on us and on the remaining Neutral enclaves, but those sources are dwindling. Without us to fight or enslave, it is possible that they will only survive for a few millennia."

"An' he thinks now's the right time t'start up our own youth centres? _Now_?"

"Spare me the obvious arguments, Jazz, I feel the same way but he has steadily refused to be swayed."

"Look, if he an'Lita want a sparklin' t'raise, that's one thing. We can keep one safe - we managed wit'Bee, we'll cope wit'another - but just openin' it up like that? The Cons'll be all over us. An' they'll all be splits, too, so they'll develop slower an' get in the way all the time an'... Primus, it's a disaster!"

"And yet he's also correct." Prowl pointed out. "Our situation is unlikely to improve from here, and the danger to the survival of our race and culture is genuine."

"So whadda we do?"

"I don't know."

Jazz grimaced, then rose.

"I'll have a talk to ol'Optimus. See if I can talk some sense into him. Meantime, drink up and go get some charge - you ain't gonna think o'nothin' when you're tired like this."

Prowl bowed at the waist.

"Yes, mentor."

Jazz snorted.

"I'da done a better job than that monster you had. Now get on wit'ya, some of us've got real work t'do."


	70. Part 14: Truth will out, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 2 of 10

The lift doors opened and Sideswipe began to step out, then saw Prowl stepping in and chose to stay.

"So you _are_ still alive then? I was beginning to wonder."

"I am functioning perfectly well, Sideswipe. Did you need something?"

"Well you missed our game yesterday so you owe me one. _And_ you missed Blue trying out his new upgrade, too. He was really disappointed, but Sunny and I cheered him up."

Prowl's doorwings twitched in irritation.

"I have told you before not to bother Bluestreak."

"But we weren't bothering him."

"That is a matter of opinion."

The doors opened again and Prowl strode out, so Sideswipe followed.

"So you're planning something big, right? Something better than just delivering supplies?"

"Not everything I work on results in a battle."

"But this one will. Right? Come on, just give me a hint."

Prowl stopped outside one of the conference rooms.

"If there is anything for you to know, you will find out in due course." he intoned, then swept inside.

Sideswipe frowned at the locked door, then shrugged. He would find out eventually. For now, he was absolutely certain that something was up.

Time to go place some bets.

* * *

The other two officers were already waiting in the conference room when Prowl arrived.

"Optimus has told you what he has asked me to do?" he asked Ratchet as he sat down.

"I can't believe you didn't just tell him to frag off." Ratchet grunted.

"He pretty much did." Jazz shrugged. " _I_ sure did. Boss-bot ain't listenin', he wants this done."

"I have found a viable solution, but I would appreciate your opinions so I can refine it before I present it to him."

"Y'mean y'want us to poke holes in it so y'don't have t'tell him." Jazz translated.

Prowl ignored him.

"My suggestion is that we use Syrenex as a base to hide the sparklings."

"We've tried that kind of thing before, with Luciana." Ratchet pointed out.

"Syrenex is entirely self-sufficient. It is also somewhat protected by its position within the asteroid field and by the natural signal-blocking properties of the soil. If there were to be no outward communications at all to give away its location, and if we were to stage its destruction using one of the nearby asteroids, and if we were to draw Decepticon attention away from that area, there is a possibility that this could work."

"A pit of a lotta ifs in that." Jazz frowned.

"Yes, there are." Prowl acknowledged. "The only way this will work is if the Decepticons are convinced that there are none of us remaining in that area. The plan would call for the base to be entirely sealed off and for the inhabitants to remain within the base for at least two centuries with no contact with anyone. Ideally it should be long enough for any sparklings to reach maturity. For our part, we must make a believable effort to abandon the base and then appear to blow it up rather than allow the Decepticons to claim it. We will then make no attempt to reclaim Syrenex until well into the future."

He paused, handing them each a pad containing the details.

"The risks are immense. If something goes wrong for them, we will not necessarily know about it. If something goes wrong for us, they will not be aware. The best case scenario, assuming they remain undetected, is that they will emerge into the ongoing war and will make contact with us. But it is possible that in that time we will have lost the war and been destroyed, or travelled too far away to make contact with. They will effectively be Neutrals."

Ratchet was silent for a long while, reading, then shook his head.

"I won't bother arguing about the logistics - that's your area, not mine. But I think you're overestimating the number of sparklings."

"I assumed one third of the crew." Prowl mused. "You believe it will be fewer?"

Ratchet grunted.

"We've been away from Cybertron a long time, but a lot of mecha still hold to what they were taught."

"I understood split sparks were acceptable?"

"They were, before everyone found out what Megatron was doing with split younglings." Ratchet considered.

"We would not be sending them out to fight until they were of age." Prowl assured him, hearing but not reacting to Jazz's soft snort at that hypocrisy.

"Then that's a lot of time left vulnerable." Ratchet pointed out. "Split sparks learn slow. Push them too hard and they're not much better than drones; do it at the normal pace and they'll just be victims for a long time. And that's what will make most turn down the chance: they won't want to go through this just to give the Cons targets. No, I'd be surprised if you end up with as many as fifty volunteers."

Prowl nodded, noting down the observations.

"Fewer sparklings will be easier to hide and will improve the likelihood of success."

"By a lot?" Ratchet asked sceptically.

"No."

"So you need my guys to stage the pretend evacuation." Jazz mused, looking further ahead on the plans.

"It seemed the wisest course. We will use drones to pilot the actual ship, rather than risk losing crew."

"We might be able to destabilise that space bridge, too." Jazz considered. "The Cons know where it comes out, they built it, but without a functional bridge to take'em straight to wherever that is so they can intercept us they'll have t'go the long way. It'll buy us time."

"Destabilising a bridge is dangerous." Ratchet frowned.

"Know that." Jazz acknowledged, still picking through the data. "I'll have a talk t'some o'my crew, see what they think."

"Something you actually haven't done yourself?" Prowl asked, mildly surprised.

Jazz flashed a smile at him.

"Can't be expert in _everythin_ ', y'know. Ops is a wide field. An' the doc's right; playin' wit' space bridges is dangerous stuff."

"Why?"

"Because a destabilised bridge usually responds by turning into a temporary black hole and sucking in everything around it." Ratchet explained. "Small radius of effect, but big enough to kill whoever was tampering with it. That's why we don't mess around with them."

"It can be done." Jazz reiterated. "Just a question of whether we should try. Anyway, you were talkin' about a diversion t'keep the Cons' attention away from all this. What's the plan?"

"The Syrenex plan is very likely to fail." Prowl said bluntly. "There are too many variables and too long a time span. All it will take is one Decepticon spy to infiltrate the base, or one sympathiser who knows Syrenex's precise location and layout, or one stray communication to draw attention, and their cover will be blown. But if we can ensure that Megatron's attention is on us and not them then they have a chance. To do so, we must be a highly visible target. I am recommending the retrieval of the _Ark_."

"And just how are you going to get it to us from Iacon?" Ratchet demanded. "You know the Decepticons are watching for us to make a move for it. Everyone does."

"We will not bring the _Ark_ out. We will go to it."

There was a brief shocked silence, then Jazz put his helm in his hands.

"And you think the Syrenex plan is risky?" he complained. "Prowler, clearly you ain't gettin' enough charge!"

* * *

Optimus was not sure what to expect as Prowl took him through the details of the plan he had constructed, but any lingering displeasure over the task he had been assigned was now well concealed, the mech purely professional and focused. Both Jazz and Ratchet had stopped by to convince him it was a ridiculous concept, but Prowl simply laid out what was needed and then continued on to describe the complementary scheme.

"Instead of a fleet of ships which will be easy for the Decepticons to scatter and run down, we take only one. A fast ship, one that is large enough to comfortably house everyone remaining. We abandon Cybertron, board everyone and run."

"The _Ark_." Optimus realised.

"It is very high risk." Prowl warned. "More so than any of our previous planned actions. The Decepticons are well aware that our numbers and resources are low and that the _Ark_ 's repairs are all but complete; therefore, they will be waiting for this move. The moment we begin to converge on Iacon it will be obvious."

"We cannot run forever." Optimus frowned.

"We may have little choice in the medium-term." Prowl countered. "If we can move when they are not entirely ready, we can build quite a head start. I recommend that we do not even attempt to remain within charted space, we simply choose a direction and don't stop. As they will not be provisioned for a long trip the longer we can keep running the more likely that they will abandon the chase. Once we are certain we are no longer being followed we should travel the same distance again, then change direction and travel for at least a decade before looking for a potential new base world."

"Abandon Cybertron." Optimus muttered.

"The option does not sit well with me either." Prowl admitted. "But given a few centuries to rebuild our numbers and resources, perhaps we can stage a renewed assault."

"You're talking being on the run for a long time before we even select such a base." Optimus pointed out. "Do we really need to travel so far?"

"If we want to remain safe for long enough to solidify our advantage, yes, I believe so."

"And you would take civilians as well as all the Autobots?"

"The _Ark_ is large enough; as you have pointed out, our numbers are frighteningly low."

"But can we resource that many mecha for such a long period?"

"No. I would recommend that the majority of the passengers be put into medical stasis for the trip. Only a small crew would be needed to maintain the ship once we had established sufficient distance that the threat of attack was neutralised. Our ships have always been faster than the Decepticons', that is how we've survived this long, and the _Ark_ is the fastest of all once her engines are at full speed."

"There will be some who don't want to come."

"Then we leave them behind." Prowl said simply. "No-one should feel compelled to come. But they will only get one chance to refuse, and they will not know where we have gone, so they will not be able to follow."

"What of the possibility of Decepticon spies amongst those who do come?"

"There may well be some, but they will be in stasis until we arrive and will then not know where they are in relation to Cybertron, so that is not a major concern."

Optimus sat back in his chair.

"So the plans for Syrenex are merely a distraction from this?"

"No. Syrenex is a failsafe. The _Ark_ is fast, but if there are Decepticon cruisers in our path when we launch, or if they use some kind of blocking technique, we may not escape at all. In that case, the survivors at Syrenex will be the only ones left. In fact," he continued somberly, "if the _Ark_ is destroyed and Megatron wins, they will be even safer since the war will effectively be over."

"None of these are palatable options." Optimus grimaced.

"If you'll forgive me, sir, you'll recall that I warned you of that when you insisted that I find a solution. These are the two most viable solutions but they could both fail. It is now your choice as to whether to take the chance."

* * *

When Prowl had suggested Syrenex as the setting for this dubious undertaking, he had expected that to be the end of his involvement and that he would be able to focus on the intricate planning required to get everyone safely to Iacon. Instead Optimus had approved his plans and then announced that he would be given primary control of the Syrenex operation, insisting that he was the one most qualified for it. It was vital that everything ran smoothly and quietly, and Prowl would need to be on hand to adjust the planning if circumstances shifted.

Which was about the time that Optimus admitted that he personally intended to split, and Prowl had embarrassingly suffered his first glitch freeze in over a century.

This, he concluded as he dutifully lay still on the medbay berth and listened to Ratchet railing at the contrite Prime, was the real reason behind all of this insanity. Optimus was right that their numbers _were_ desperately low and there _was_ a serious risk of the total loss of their heritage if nothing was done to remedy that, but clearly the Prime's motives had been personal. The source of this madness was a desire for a sparkling of his own, and a sense of guilt in taking that opportunity when others could not do the same. All of this was data that had not been included in Prowl's planning.

The merest rumour that Prime might have a sparkling would send the Decepticons into a frenzy to locate it. The leverage such an innocent might provide Megatron could not be underestimated: the mock-destruction of Syrenex would not stop them searching if there was the slightest possibility of such a hostage, and the Decepticons had the numbers to dedicate to such a search. Any rumour that Prime had a sparkling would be enough to put all of the sparklings in jeopardy and render futile all of the elaborately planned protections.

Given the inevitable result, no-one could be allowed to know of Prime's plans. Ratchet would perform the procedure and would be discreet but even that was not enough: there must be no chance that anyone could put the pieces together and even begin to wonder about this.

The solution was obvious. Prime's procedure must occur somewhere else and the sparkling travel with those aboard the _Ark_. Just as Jazz had pointed out, they had successfully protected a single youngling in Bumblebee and they could do so again. So long as no-one knew of the relationship between Prime and the sparkling it would work perfectly well: Prime had been closely involved with Bumblebee, after all, and everyone knew he was not that mech's sparker.

That solution then left him wondering whether to cancel the Syrenex plan entirely. He gave it serious consideration for a few moments, then decided that that was not a good idea. The more sparklings there were the less suspicious Prime's one would be amongst the Autobots, thus less suspicious to the Decepticons. And besides, Optimus's original stated concern - that dwindling numbers endangered their heritage - was not answered by the activation of a single sparkling.

The Decepticons would hear about them, that was inevitable. The only way to get Autobot volunteers for the sparking process was to spread the word wide, and he had no illusions that there were still sympathisers and double agents around. That inevitability was part of his planning, and remained unchanged by this new development.

In a way, the sparklings were their own defence, fragile though that defence was. They were a precious resource that Megatron could use, so until they were all activated there was no point in making a move. The planned ruse of making it appear that the sparklings had been sent through the space bridge and Syrenex destroyed was still their best option. Any attempt to move those sparklings anywhere near to Cybertron would simply draw attention there when it was least desirable.

So. To further complicate an already risky plan he had to allow for Optimus and Ratchet to 'disappear' for awhile, and for the sparkling to be cared for by someone who did not know who the sparker was _and_ for both the mentor and sparkling to reach Iacon safely but separately from the Autobots, slipping into the city so that there was no connection to be made.

It was enough to make his processor ache.

Ratchet loomed over him.

"Whatever you're doing, stop it now or I'll manually override your logic centre and shut it down until you can behave yourself."

"I'm not going to crash again."

"You're slagging right you're not, not on _my_ watch. And _you_! Don't you go anywhere, I'm not done with you yet!"

~Prowler?~ Jazz called over a comm line. ~You okay? You haven't had a crash in a long time.~

~Overdue, perhaps.~ Prowl considered. ~Find me a way to placate Ratchet so I can get out of here: I have a lot more work to do.~

~No can do, babe, you're supposed to rest. I ain't gettin' between you an' the Hatchet over that one. Jus' settle down an' do what you're told an' I"ll come pick you up after your nap.~


	71. Part 14: Truth will out, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 3 of 10

Optimus had questioned whether it was truly necessary for him to attend a detailed briefing with Prowl and his two subordinates, but his Chief Tactician had insisted on it.

"Jazz will be at Syrenex to coordinate the defensive plans there." Trailbreaker explained, gesturing to a starchart which showed Syrenex, the false base they were preparing, and the location of the space bridge. "Given that that will keep him busy, my role will be managing the spark donors and other inhabitants of Syrenex and preparing for enclosure of the base. We expect most of the donors will want to stay, but some may not and they will need to be moved back into the cycling process to make sure they will get safely to Iacon. I will also be liaising with Circuitbreaker, who is the medic Ratchet recommended to coordinate the splitting."

"Ratchet will not be there, himself?" Optimus asked, surprised into paying full attention for the first time in a groon.

"No, sir. Jazz is the only member of the command team who will be on Syrenex, in case of a premature Decepticon offensive."

"But I will be there for much of the time."

Prowl shook his head firmly, taking over.

"Out of the question. Your presence near those involved in the production of sparklings will only fuel speculation that you yourself are involved. The merest rumour of such would put the entire population of Syrenex in immediate and unacceptable danger. It is essential that you are not there."

~Prowl, if I am not there then how can I go ahead with my own sparkling?~

"Trailbreaker, finish your report." Prowl ordered, ignoring the question.

"Once everything is organised, I will transfer to the false Syrenex along with a small team to begin preparing the ruse that it is the true location of the base. We will have to maintain that cover while the splitting and activation actually takes place. Then my team will hand over to Jazz's agents who will carry out the final part of the plan, feigning the reactor leak and evacuation and destroying the base. That will hopefully be enough to keep Syrenex safe."

"The timing is very important." Prowl added. "Trailbreaker's team must be completely clear of the area before the final phase begins. Running concurrently, Smokescreen will be organising the migration to Cybertron. Smokescreen, your report please."

"We're going to start shuffling the troops in the next few orns." Smokescreen took over smoothly. "Officially it's to hide who is heading to Syrenex so that the Decepticons won't have a clear idea of how many are based there, but mostly it's to cover up the evacuation to Cybertron. No-one will be told about Iacon until they're nearly there, and we can divert anyone who wants to go to Syrenex before they even know about Iacon, so we're limiting the chance of a leak."

"I still don't understand how we will get everyone there safely." Optimus admitted. "I know that Omega Supreme has offered to carry the command team in at the end, but we're attempting to transport over two hundred mechs directly into Megatron's line of sight. At the first sign of a ship approaching Cybertron they'll be on their guard."

"The idea is to not use ships at all." Smokescreen explained, bringing a simulation up on the main screen. "Most of us have had spacewalking upgrades along with our armour, and we can fit those who haven't with temporary casings. We'll get them put into travel-stasis, tell them they're being taken to their next destination, and set them drifting."

"The trajectories will have to be individually calculated, but the calculations themselves are not difficult." Prowl informed him.

"You're talking about sending them into danger, completely helpless!" Optimus spluttered.

"And that is its own protection." Prowl insisted. "With their systems powered down they will register as non-sentient debris to the drones and automated sensors. They will be programmed to re-engage full systems once on the ground and will then have orders to head for Iacon. Given that the Decepticons have all but abandoned Cybertron in order to track us all over the sector it is not as foolhardy as it may first appear."

"No-one will agree to do this. The risk is too high."

"We will not be telling them what they are going to be doing." Prowl reminded him.

"But when they get there they'll know the risk they went through."

"Which is why I will be amongst the first to go."

Optimus paused.

"You can't be serious."

"I am entirely serious. Someone must go to Iacon to coordinate from there. Someone with the authority to act if other plans fail. Since Jazz is required to be at Syrenex for entirely practical reasons, and you will be elsewhere, and Ratchet has consistently refused to take on any responsibility beyond medical concerns, I am the obvious choice."

"No. We need to discuss this."

The two other tacticians excused themselves, and Prowl spoke as soon as the door was closed.

"It is the best option."

"Except that it puts you at risk. I won't have it. Trailbreaker will go, with Red Alert. You will stay at Syrenex."

"Prime..."

"No, Prowl. There are too many things that could go wrong here, and the plans may need to be changed at short notice. I need you where I can reach you."

"That will leave all of us exposed and heading for Iacon at the same time." Prowl shook his head. "It also means there is no-one with sufficient authority at Iacon to make the call to move if it appears that the plan has been compromised. In the case that you are unable to get to Iacon someone needs to be able to act decisively. Red Alert will not make that decision: his default reaction is to retreat and defend, and Trailbreaker shares the same style. And even if you order him to take that path, and give him clear guidelines as to when to follow those orders, he is not a leader. There is a high risk that the faction could fragment and become vulnerable very quickly."

"Jazz could go once he has finished organising the Syrenex plan."

Prowl's doorwings twitched faintly, but Optimus spoke before he could begin to argue.

"He is capable of leading when he wants to, and he's pragmatic enough to do what's needed. And to keep himself alive."

"You do not believe the same of me?" Prowl asked.

"Neither of you are expendable, but if I had to manage without one of you for awhile it would always have to be Jazz. His team is useful, but your role is essential. You will travel with me aboard Omega Supreme."

Prowl inclined his helm slightly.

"If you insist."

"I do." Optimus said firmly, then paused. "Unless that affects your predicted success rates?"

Prowl looked at him serenely.

"Every change has an impact. This one is likely negligible, but I will need to test that assumption before I attempt to give you any definitive answer. Are there any other details you wanted to change at this stage, or do I finally have all the data necessary to perform my job efficiently?"

Serene, Prowl may appear, but he was clearly irritated. Optimus considered walking away to let him cool off, then realised he still had a question.

"Where is Ratchet going to be? And how am I going to split if I am not at Syrenex where this medic Circuitbreaker is going to be?"

"Had you read the information I gave you yesterday evening, you would know that the entire reason Circuitbreaker is being brought in is so that Ratchet is free to assist you personally." the response came frostily.

Now that he mentioned it, Optimus saw the connection. He had skimmed the report Prowl had left with him, focusing on the fact that Bumblebee had been assigned as the ops agent in charge, and had missed the point that they would be somewhere other than Syrenex.

"He is one of Jazz's agents. If you have any further questions about that I suggest you speak to Jazz. I, meanwhile, now have a great deal of extra work to complete."

* * *

Jazz found Prowl in the washracks standing under a heavy stream of hot water and put a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soothingly.

"Thought I might find ya here. You ready t'come out?"

"No." Prowl sighed, but turned off the spout, leaving them in the ambient steam. "He has spoken to you, then?"

"Yeah. An' I told him that if he wants this t'work he needs t'stop changin' the variables all the time."

"He does not usually interfere to this extent." Prowl admitted, turning on the dryer. "I believe he is doing so this time in part because of his preoccupation with his own role in the proceedings."

Jazz smiled faintly at the delicate reference. This room was probably safe, but he approved of the precaution: no point casually giving away secrets where others might overhear.

"Well anyway, apart from wastin' a coupla groons we're still on track, right? You'll head out to Ovacalix tomorrow an' I'll go wit' the others to Syrenex for the inspection..."

"No."

"No?"

Prowl turned to look at him.

"Embarrassingly, his suggestion of having you go at the later stage rather than me at the beginning actually improves the probability of success by point three percent. I should have tested that variable before."

Jazz cocked his head to the side, considering.

"You're in here upset because he was right?"

Prowl's doorwings flicked, water splashing against the walls.

"I am in here because if I am going to have to spend several interminable decaorns on Syrenex with no appropriate facilities then I intend to be properly clean first."

Jazz laughed.

"Can't be that bad, babe. At least I'll be there t'scrub ya down, eh?"

"You may well need to." Prowl sighed. "The dirt there is inexorable. You will see."

* * *

"You wanted me for something?"

"Come in, Bluestreak."

He was never entirely comfortable with visiting Prowl at his office. The surroundings made him nervous, and he always had the idea that there were far more important things Prowl should be doing than speaking to him.

"Whatever you need doing, I can do it, you could've just sent me some instructions that would've been fine, I know you're really busy."

"I have been busy." Prowl nodded, gesturing for him to sit. "But I wished to apologise that I was not available to come with you to test your new programming."

"Oh no, that's okay, it was nothing really. I knew you had lots to do and it was only just a bit of testing, nothing important. And anyway, it was okay because everything was just fine."

"So Sideswipe informs me."

"Oh, did he?" Bluestreak asked weakly, wondering exactly what Sideswipe had said.

He could not quite figure out what Prowl thought of the frontliner twins. Mostly he seemed to disapprove of them, yet he was the one to introduce Bluestreak to them in the first place. Bluestreak had known who they were, of course, in the same way that he had always known who Prowl was. They had had no reason to be interested in him until he was connected to Prowl.

Now, however, their interest was rather... focused.

Not that he minded, entirely, but they were moving just a little fast.

"I understand you have been spending increasing amounts of time with him and his brother."

"Well yes, I mean it wasn't planned that way but it's kinda worked out that way and they can be really fun sometimes and, uh, if you don't want me to then I guess I... uh..."

"I am perturbed by the thought of the trouble they may get you into," Prowl admitted, "but that is not my primary concern at the moment. Apart from the twins, who do you spend time with?"

"Other than them? Well you, of course. And Bumblebee, he's always around. And I've been helping Wheeljack..."

"Wheeljack." Prowl interrupted, nodded approvingly. "Good. That's good to know."

Bluestreak hesitated. Was Prowl really trying to match him up with someone?

"I've only been helping him carry some stuff from stores, we're just friends..."

"A friend is what you need." Prowl said firmly. "We are about to begin reassigning everyone to various stations and I wanted to be sure that you would not be entirely isolated in the move."

"I won't be coming with you?" Bluestreak asked, alarmed.

"I will join you eventually." Prowl assured him. "But in the short term it seems I must go to Syrenex."

Bluestreak's mouth gaped open.

"You're going to split?"

"I am going to coordinate matters there. I will be joining you as soon as that task is complete, but since the twins will be with me as part of the defensive unit I wanted to be sure you wouldn't be alone."

Bluestreak stared at Prowl for a moment, once again struck by how unexpectedly compassionate Prowl could be. He wanted to say that he would be just fine on his own, that he had been alone for long periods of time after Praxus was destroyed, but the idea that Prowl really _cared_ stopped the words from coming.

"Thanks." he finally said simply, rising and moving impulsively around the desk to hug Prowl tightly.

"You're welcome. Now tell me about the test: I have a few breems to spare and we will likely not have a chance to simply talk again for awhile."

* * *

Prowl privately admitted he was impressed: Syrenex had changed in the vorns since it had been hurriedly established. No longer just a few caves carved into the dirt, there was a maze of corridors all lined with clean metal; everything was appropriately lit and connected and there was no shortage of the basic requirements of energon, charging ports, and private space.

"...get our energy through a combination of fluid compression and radiation." Prowl's guide told him, pointing out a well-shielded converter. "We have ten production units and run them on an alternating sequence of high and low output..."

In short it was now a fully functional base featuring automated defences, two layered shield domes and enough accomodation for a thousand residents. That was almost the entire surviving Autobot contingent.

It was self sufficient, it was protected by natural as well as manufactured defences, it was safe.

Safe.

He balked against that assessment even as he made it. Until the war was over, nowhere was safe; he had learned that lesson thoroughly with Luciana.

"Thank you, Switchback, that was very informative. Please return to your station." Prowl dismissed the mech as the tour ended.

Switchback hesitated.

"Sir, if I may - is it true Prime is considering allowing splitsparks?"

"The details have yet to be finalised, but yes. Are you expressing an interest?"

"Not me, sir, but I used to work in a youth centre in Perihex. Will you be looking for volunteers to help?"

"Potentially. I will let you know."

"Thank you, sir."

Stepping up to the mezzanine gallery to look down at the main courtyard, he marvelled at the changes to the base since it had been established. It was far more impressive than Ovacalix or Kalisi or even Plutes-1. The mechs left here to develop it had clearly decided to make the most of their semi-civilian duties. In a few short vorns it had gone from a temporary space to a complex capable of housing every surviving Autobot.

He had known the facts, of course. The reports coming from Syrenex were what allowed him to devise the plan Optimus wanted implemented: a place where sparklings could be raised without drawing Decepticon attention. Seeing for himself was strangely different, somehow.

A figure down in the courtyard turned to look at him, grinning.

~They've done some pretty serious upgradin' here, haven't they?~ Jazz commed.

~It is impressive.~ he agreed. ~But will it be enough?~

~It'll work or it won't, Sparkles. All we can do is do our best. In the meantime, what I _can_ say is that you ain't gonna get as dirty here as y'thought. Unless ya want to, that is.~

Prowl cut the connection before Jazz could get too carried away with that line of thought. They still had work to do, after all.

* * *

A decaorn later, well settled in to the new surroundings, Prowl found himself wondering whether any of the efforts being made were even justified. The other plans were going ahead smoothly, the false base secretly under construction and the first batch of mechs having arrived safely at Iacon, but here at Syrenex there was limited progress. He had assumed that he may have to limit the number of sparkers; instead, he now found himself wondering if he might have to go searching: thus far they had only eight volunteers.

Dozens had asked for more information, but when they heard that the sparklings would have to stay in place at Syrenex most pulled out, many of them citing the disaster at Luciana. The ones who did volunteer were uniformly not frontline soldiers. Maintenance workers, support staff, administration and comms juniors.

It made him wonder why even they would be ready to do this. Why would anyone take this chance, based on the information they had been given? Why go to this level of effort when failure was so very likely? The question gnawed at him until he finally asked one of the volunteers.

The answer was given promptly and passionately.

"Because I've got to have _something_ to hope for. Sparklings are a blessing from Primus, a symbol of hope, and if we don't have hope left then why are we fighting? I want to _hope_ that we can see an end to this war, and my sparkling can live in peace."

A symbol of hope.

It made his processor ache. His tactical centre told him how likely this was to fail, and surely anyone could approximate the same calculations. Yet hope was not built on facts. His faith in Optimus as Prime and in the Autobot cause was not quantifiable. His love for Jazz was unshakeable.

All of which got him thinking further. Perhaps what was needed was a sign that there _was_ hope. If one of the senior officers was publicly involved in this - not Optimus, the risk was too high, but someone else - perhaps it would reassure others. Perhaps it would build hope.

He rubbed at his chest thoughtfully. What he was considering was well outside any of the plans he had ever produced. Taking a personal stake in this could change his perspective on the whole plan: emotions often made mecha irrational, and he could not afford to react that way. Still, he had only once acted illogically, choosing to bond with Jazz, so it was likely he would not overreact.

It did, however, raise two pragmatic questions. Firstly, if he was a carrier as Nolan had believed, was it even possible for him to split or would he have to carry? And secondly, what would he do if exposing his spark to a medic gave away the truth of his bond to Jazz?

Obviously he could not remain at Syrenex, so the sparkling would have to be raised by others, but that was a minor point: he had always assumed that that would be the case for some of the volunteers and it had been factored into the planning of what staff were required. Besides, even if he were free to choose, he was not certain that he would choose to raise a sparkling himself. He would not know where to start.

If he did follow this up it would be with Circuitbreaker not Ratchet. Easily managed; the Chief Medical Officer was still here now, ensuring everything was properly organised, but was going to 'disappear' for awhile to help Optimus. With the worst-case scenario, if he could order her to silence then the secret would be kept until the _Ark_ returned. That was centuries away, and making many assumptions. By that point, it may no longer be as dire a revelation.

Still, this was not a decision to make lightly. He would need to consider it carefully, to plan how it would work, to gather information.

And at some point he would have to figure out why the idea appealed quite so much as it did.


	72. Part 14: Truth will out, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 4 of 10

Prowl planned his move with the same dedication he usually applied to combat strategies. He adjusted his own timetable so that it aligned optimally with Ratchet's and spent several orns checking that the medic did in fact follow that schedule. Once he was satisfied of that, he chose an orn when Ratchet had been busy but where there were no major concerns - he used his security clearance to confirm that by checking the current status of all patients - and adjusted his own roster to match.

He planned to put his plan into action two groons after the end of Ratchet's shift, but when the time came he decided he needed to be certain Ratchet was indeed no longer in the medbay. A random inspection of the security office allowed him sufficient view of the access logs to see that the CMO had returned to his quarters, and he relaxed.

Informing Codex he was taking a fuelling break and would be back in no more than half a groon, he walked calmly through to the nearest recreation room, entirely empty this late in the shift cycle, and obtained one-third of a ration of fuel. Drinking the energon efficiently he recycled the cube and then headed away from the command deck towards the centre of the ship.

Circuitbreaker was waiting for him when he arrived and quickly ushered him into a private consultation room.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"This conversation must remain entirely confidential."

"Of course, sir."

"Confidential from everyone including the Chief Medical Officer." Prowl clarified.

Circuitbreaker hesitated.

"I... sir, I'm not sure I can do that."

"I outrank everyone but Prime himself." Prowl reminded her firmly. "You acknowledge this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then this should not be a problem."

"No sir."

She did not sound at all happy about it, but at least she had accepted his order. Even so, he found himself wondering whether this was worth the effort. What if she discovered far more than was safe?

He decided not to divert from his plan. Better to know than to fear; better this happened under controlled circumstances than take the risk that Ratchet might discover the truth at an inconvenient time.

"You have been brought here because Prime intends to encourage the creation of sparklings through the process of splitting. I understand that you are considered something of an expert in this procedure."

The medic relaxed a little.

"I've had some experience. I studied under Fuselink who was the very last student of Ordan Helix. That is why Chief Ratchet asked for me to come here now. He insists he is not a creation specialist, even though Fuselink always claimed that everything he knew was taught to him by the Chief."

"Tell me about the process." Prowl found a space to interrupt her monologue, having neither interest in nor time for unnecessary background data.

She paused and reset herself.

"It's a very simple procedure. A mature spark generates an aura of excess energy which can be drawn off. The difficulty is in ensuring that that energy is placed under in appropriate conditions to encourage it to form into a stable sphere, but we have incubators which can provide optimal conditions. The newspark forms within an orn of the initial extraction and can be inserted into the base frame at that stage."

"And the donor?"

"There is some discomfort initially but that quickly passes with fuel and rest. Ideally a sparker should have two full orns recovery time before returning to their duties, but if needed they can go on light duties within half an orn: there is nothing dangerous in this."

"I see. That will have to be factored in to the scheduling, then."

"Was that all that you needed?"

"No. How does the process differ with carriers and made sparks?"

She frowned.

"There is little to compare. Was there something in particular you would like to know?"

"It's more complex then?"

"Yes. Most certainly."

"Would it cause a carrier any harm to act as a donor for a split?"

"Not at all. In fact, a carrier would generate extra energy naturally and would recover more quickly. That's one of the signs of that ability."

It was more than he had hoped for.

"There is a test for that ability?"

"Yes, but it seems irrelevant here - all of the Autobots who were carriers were at Luciana."

"All of the ones who knew or admitted to it." he corrected her.

"You suspect there are other carriers around, sir?"

Time to take the plunge.

"I suspect that I myself may be."

"You, sir?" she gaped.

"I'm sure you can appreciate why I would like this information kept confidential." he continued firmly. "If I am correct, and if Optimus were to find out, he would be forced into a difficult position. As Chief Tactical Officer and Second in Command I am already a major target for the Decepticons, but their determination to capture me would increase dramatically if I were also known to be a carrier. Optimus would likely insist that I move into a less prominent position, which would have a detrimental effect on the efficiency of the tactical unit."

He paused, letting her take that in, then added a reminder.

"As for Ratchet, if he knew he would likely feel compelled to tell Optimus. This is why I have asked you instead. Do you understand?"

"I... yes, sir. But... sir, didn't they tell you when you were upgraded into your adult frame? I don't understand why it would have been omitted, the test is usually done then as a matter of course."

"It may have been done but no such test results were relayed to me."

"Oh. I see. Well it only takes a moment. I could do it now if you like."

He hesitated. The intention had been only to gather information at this stage and plan for further action based on what he discovered. But he had plenty of time remaining, and there was no real reason to delay.

"Very well. Proceed."

* * *

Jazz paced through empty corridors, admiring the work that had been done. The base was a work of art. From above, even walking about on the surface, there was no hint of what lay beneath unless you knew precisely where the entrance was and how to access it. Within, there was light and power and energon from the conversion plant. The energon crystals here could not be mined quickly but were plentiful, and a steady supply was more important than a single large deposit.

Returning to the main hall, he found Mirage staring at the lifeless bodies scattered around.

"Whaddaya think?"

"You had extra frames constructed purely for this purpose?"

"Nah, Prowler just overcompensated when he was plannin'. Ordered a whole lot more frames than we're actually gonna need, thinkin' there'd be more volunteers. No point lettin'em go to waste."

"I understood Prowl was still briefing potential volunteers."

"Most just wanna help out in other ways." Jazz shrugged. "Now, the plan?"

"The construction workers could give away the fact that no-one was living here."

"Covered. They got told the location of the original Syrenex already got leaked an' so this was gonna be the new base and had t'be made safe before ev'ryone moved in."

"Transmissions from Syrenex could give it away."

"Prowl's had all comms routin' through the receiver here. Far as any comms trail'd show, this is Syrenex."

"And if the attack comes early?"

"Then we're in trouble." Jazz shrugged.

It was a gamble, and it always surprised him how much his conservative mate would risk on Decepticon greed. Prowl was relying on the fact that the enemy would not want to simply destroy the base, but would want to take the sparklings. To do that, they needed to wait until all of the sparklings were activated. If Prowl was right, there was no real danger of attack until the last split occurred.

After that, anything could happen.

"Is it not suspicious that all of these sparklings will be in the same room, near the exit?"

"Nah, that bit's easy. We're gonna set up the comms to suggest they're evacuatin' when the reactor explodes. An' since sparklin' frames don't grey the same as adult ones, what's left should be recognisable. Only one ship'll get away; our decoy."

Mirage did not so much as twitch, but Jazz felt the unspoken question and shook his head.

"I ain't discussin' it again, Raj. We're gonna need Hound t'scout out the planet we end up on, an' I ain't gonna separate you two, so you've gotta be wit'us."

"The more who know the entirety of the plan, the more risk there is that it will leak." Mirage pointed out. "Hound and I are capable..."

"No." Jazz said firmly, and stared until Mirage subsided. "You're goin' to Iacon. Afterimage's unit've worked on space bridges before, they're the obvious choice for the mission. They know the risks an' they've got the best shot of pullin' this off. Now we're gonna finish settin' up here, then I'm headin' back an' you'd better get on your way to Ovacalix for your transfer."

Mirage was clearly still unhappy, but he did not argue further so Jazz let the issue go and focused on preparing the false Syrenex base to self-destruct. All going well there would be too much damage to know precisely what had happened or how many had been present, but just enough residue to know that there had been sparklings here.

And short of an early Decepticon raid, everything _would_ go well. He was a professional saboteur, after all, and demolitions was a specialty. For all intents and purposes, the Decepticons should be satisfied that this was Syrenex and that there had been no survivors.

Simple.

* * *

Ratchet exited the base to find Prowl waiting for him and spoke before the other mech could.

"I told you there wouldn't be many volunteers."

Prowl was as unruffled as ever, matching him stride for stride as they headed across the surface towards the waiting shuttle.

"We will work with whatever we have. Are you fully prepared?"

"As ready as I'm going to be. I'd feel better about doing this at a proper facility. Oh, don't start, I know it's safer this way but it's still not going to make me happy. Slag it all, it's a _stupid_ thing to be doing. Why can't they all just wait until we're safely away?"

"There is no assurance that that scenario will eventuate as planned; any number of variables could come into play, including our demise."

"Then they won't be around to miss anything." Ratchet snapped back, feeling irritable. "And what were you doing in my bay when I wasn't there?"

The unexpected change of topic threw Prowl a little, just as Ratchet had intended, but the only sign was doorwings twitching faintly before steadying.

"I felt it prudent to become acquainted with Circuitbreaker and with the details of the process to come."

"I could've told you about splitting. You never asked."

"I'm sure your explanations would have been edifying, but since Circuitbreaker is the one who will be performing the procedures on our volunteers it seemed prudent to involve her. Is it likely she omitted any relevant information?"

"No, she's a good medic." Ratchet responded absently, studying Prowl for a moment. "Are we sure that this is all going to work? Split up like this, it feels like we're inviting trouble."

"We cannot be certain of anything, but I believe the risk is currently quite low. The first travellers have reached their destination safely according to Trailbreaker's encrypted signal; we now have every potential volunteer here at Syrenex so traffic will reduce; Jazz is confident in his team's ability to carry out their part; and you are about to join Optimus on his search for the Neutrals who requested our assistance."

Ratchet snorted softly. There were no such Neutrals, that was just part of the cover story. One of Jazz's agents had initiated the signals, and Optimus had ordered a number of ships to begin searching, taking a shuttle himself to help cover a wider area. The resulting chaos hid what was truly happening - the mecha heading for Cybertron, the preparations to make it appear as though Syrenex had been destroyed, and Prime's sparkling.

Just what had gotten into Optimus's processor he had no idea, but he would finally have the chance to corner him about it and keep insisting until he got a proper answer. All these claims of how 'the Matrix says it's time' were just nonsense; the Matrix was a power source, not a sentient being.

Well, whatever the cause, the only reason it had any chance of working was because of the mech standing at Ratchet's side.

"You're ready, if they come early?" he asked gruffly. "We can't afford to lose you."

"The plans are in place."

"Well make sure you follow them. And get that crazy mate of yours to do the same! No heroics, just get out."

A smile flickered across Prowl's lips before he controlled his expression again.

"I will do my very best, I assure you. And now I believe your pilot is waiting, so I should stop delaying you. I look forward to hearing positive news from your search."

"I'll let you know how it goes." Ratchet nodded, stepping onto the shuttle. "In person, if I can. You'd better be around to hear about it, that's all I can say."

"I'm sure the threat of your ire if I fail to be will be enough of an incentive to keep me alert." Prowl assured him drily, turning away.

Ratchet laughed as he closed the hatch. Anyone who said that Prowl had no sense of humour had no idea what they were taling about.

* * *

The engineer was the first to mention it, even before Jazz stepped out of the shuttle he had just landed, asking if something were wrong with Prowl. Brushing off the concern, Jazz started to head down into Syrenex, but was stopped by several others with similar questions. Perturbed, Jazz headed straight for their shared quarters was disturbed further to find Prowl sitting on the couch reading rather than working at the desk.

"You okay, Prowler?" Jazz asked, peering down at his partner critically. "Word is you saw Ratchet off, an' then cancelled the rest of your workshift."

Prowl subspaced his datapad and reached out one hand.

"Join me?"

Jazz reached out and cupped his hand around Prowl's jaw, tilting his lover's face up towards him both so he could get a better view of his expression and so he could use physical contact to strengthen what he could sense through the bond.

"Y'don't _feel_ upset." he considered.

Prowl smiled and rubbed the back of Jazz's hand reassuringly, then tugged him closer.

"Join me. I want to talk to you."

Unsure what to make of Prowl's mood Jazz sank down onto the couch, cocking his head to one side.

"You're scarin' me, Sparkles. You got a rust infection or somethin'?"

Prowl shook his head, trailing his hand up Jazz's arm and over his chest.

"I want to take advantage of Prime's offer. I want to make a spark."

"You mean split." Jazz corrected him absently, slightly stunned.

He liked to tease Prowl about being Bluestreak's substitute mentor, but somehow it was hard to imagine him truly in that role. He may never have acted much like any other sparkling Jazz had ever known, but he was so naive in many ways. Besides, the idea of having a sparkling of their own to raise had never once entered Jazz's processors.

"No." Prowl responded to the correction, splaying his hand over Jazz's concealed sparkchamber. "I meant _make_. With you."

The statement was nonsensical; only carriers could make a spark and Jazz was not a carrier, so why...? The reasoning suddenly dawned on him.

"You had a carrier test. Primus, Prowler, what if Ratchet'd seen..."

"I went to Circuitbreaker." Prowl corrected him. "She has the skill, and more importantly I outrank her. As you do, I feared Ratchet might see evidence of something more than simply the ability to carry a spark."

"There's no sign of the bond?"

"She made no comment to suggest it. So. What do you think?"

"I think you're playin' wit' fire." Jazz responded, leaning slowly back against the couch and focusing first on the practicalities. "If word gets out, Prime'll want ya wrapped in mesh an' stashed away somewhere safe. Like _here_ for the next few centuries. You're a precious resource wit' that ability."

"I have no intention of being anything other than what I am. But I needed to know, and now that I know I find I am disinclined to ignore it."

"An' ya think Circuitbreaker'll keep quiet?"

"So long as Ratchet does not ask directly, yes, I believe she will."

Prowl smiled and leaned close to kiss him. Jazz returned the gesture, but his processor was whirling and after a moment Prowl pulled back.

"What is wrong?"

"Why? Why do this? You've never said anythin' about wantin' sparklin's."

"I've never given it any consideration until now."

"So why start now? You remember there's a war out there, right? This is no time t'be actin' like Neutrals."

"Optimus initiated this course of events and none of us were impressed, but if I did not believe this plan had a reasonable chance of success I would never have implemented it."

"Knowin' there's a chance an' _takin'_ that chance yourself're two diff'rent things, Sparkles."

"Agreed, and it is that simple logic which is giving many mechs pause when they may have been tempted to be involved. Having a senior officer involved will bolster confidence."

"An' turn these little'uns into even more of a target than they already are." Jazz argued. "An' it's _two_ officers given what you're plannin', remember?"

"No. Allowing my status as a carrier to become known is inadvisable, so publicly I would be choosing to split. Only you, Circuitbreaker and I will know the truth, and she is confident that no-one else need know it was anything out of the ordinary."

Prowl paused, nudging at the tightly controlled bond between them.

"If you truly don't want to be involved in this then I will simply split. I feel strongly that this is a necessary action to allay fears of those who might yet volunteer, and I want to share this experience with you, but I won't insist. There is still a risk that this base will be discovered and the sparklings left here killed or abducted by the Decepticons."

"We could change the plan." Jazz considered, still undecided. "Take the sparklings with us when we go."

"No. They are far safer here. We could never get them to Iacon the same way the adults are going, and they would likely not survive the stress of long-term stasis so soon after activation. Having the active crew care for one sparkling during the trip is going to be trying enough without increasing the number."

"So you're sayin' you wanna do this, an' then jus' hope? That's what it comes down to."

Prowl reached out and stroked his cheek gently.

"If we lose all hope, then there is no point in continuing to fight. I am not yet ready to give up."

"Gotta gimme a better reason than that, babe. What's behind all this?"

Prowl twitched.

"Well there is very little for me to do here unless circumstances change, so I must find something to suitably occupy myself with. And I understand it may take several attempts to be successful, so that should fill in some time..."

Jazz was startled into a laugh, sensing the honesty and desire in those words, that uniquely near-defiant determination that characterised Prowl when he had his spark set on something entirely personal. Almost as though he was always slightly embarrassed about having any strong desires which were not entirely altruistic.

"You, my mech, are a secret hedonist."

"Not secret from you." Prowl countered, not even trying to refute the claim. "So. Will you think about it, at least?"

"I'll think about it." Jazz agreed, sliding an arm around Prowl's waist and kissing him. "But in the meantime, lets jus' remember that we can fill in that time jus' fine even if we _ain't_ tryin' t'procreate, hmm?"


	73. Part 14: Truth will out, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 5 of 10

"Got a breem?"

Prowl looked up to see Jazz leaning against the door jamb.

"You missed the progress report meeting."

Jazz shrugged, slipping inside and letting the door close.

"Had an agent call in, had to deal with some stuff. There a problem wit'that?"

"No, I was simply under the impression that your offsite work was complete now until this phase is done."

"Stuff happens. Hey Prowler?"

"Yes?"

Jazz had moved right up beside him, leaning back against the edge of Prowl's desk.

"If this is what ya want, I'll help out. Can't say I've ever planned t'be a creator, but if we're gonna do this then we'll do it together."

At the open acknowledgement of such a large secret Prowl's optics flicked anxiously to where the security camera was, then he relaxed as he realised that Jazz's position neatly blocked any chance of lip-reading.

"So you've never done this before?"

"Not that I remember. Then again, that seems to happen a lot 'round you. I'm always doin' stuff I thought I'd never do."

"Nothing you have regretted, I hope."

"Not so far. So. What's our next step?"

"I believe the best option is to meet with Circuitbreaker and discuss the procedure in detail. I'll organise it."

He checked his schedule against Jazz's posted one - not always an accurate guide, but close enough.

"Tomorrow morning at the start of first shift?"

"Works for me."

* * *

Circuitbreaker motioned for the two mechs to seat themselves, feeling the situation was slightly surreal. She had not had much to do with either of the senior officers before this, but she knew what mecha said about each of them and it struck her afresh how different they were. They were such an entirely unlikely pair. Still, it was not her place to judge, and she had given this talk many times: she would get through it professionally.

"Sparking, or making a spark was first discovered by bondpairs who were fullspark sharing." she began. "As you know, sparksharing usually refers to energy exchange without physical spark contact. Given that you are intending to go ahead with this may I assume that you are already familiar enough with each other for full sharing with open spark chambers?"

"You may." Prowl agreed, not so much as twitching a doorwing at the question, Jazz nodding with a comfortable smile.

"Well as I said to you yesterday, it was bondmates who initially sparked, and for a long time it was believed that only bonded pairs could create. But after some research it was discovered that that relationship isn't necessary, just the level of trust to allow full sharing."

"So every time we share spark t'spark we're riskin' a creation?"

"Yes, but it's highly unlikely a newspark will result from it. A made spark is formed from spare spark energy generated at the point of overload. Non-carrier sparks simply reabsorb that energy immediately, while a carrier spark will do so more gradually. If there is enough energy released and if it is not reabsorbed then the energy will begin to form into a spark. However the conditions have to be carefully maintained or the spark will dissipate."

"Sounds t'me like a medical explanation for why y'get so tired sometimes when we're sharin'." Jazz commented to his partner.

"Perhaps so." Prowl mused. "What conditions are required for maintenance of the formed spark?"

"First, both the host and the contributor should be well rested and fuelled before the attempt as the point is to generate a large amount of excess energy, and that has to come from somewhere. It's also important because the host's spark will reclaim the lost energy if his own energy levels get too low. A defence mechanism of sorts, to ensure the host isn't placed at risk. That reflex can be controlled somewhat by the use of additives which temporarily cause all systems to run more efficiently, and quickly replenish low energy stores. They can't be used over a long period because the residues build up and cause blockages, but short term they are very effective.

"Ideally you will take the additives dissolved in medical grade energon prior to any attempt, and then again immediately after to delay the resorption reflex. I can supply you with that today, but it degrades within a decaorn so you may need to get a fresh batch later as well."

"Is it likely to take longer than that to achieve?" Prowl asked, frowning.

"It depends on how often you're free to attempt this. You both have very busy schedules. Speaking of which, stress is another common trigger for resorption and could also make it difficult to form the spark in the first place. I'm recommending all split spark contributors be on light duty for two orns prior to the procedure and I would recommend the same for you before each of your attempts."

Prowl's frown deepened and Jazz shook his head.

"Can't be done wit'out raisin' suspicions. Once he's sparked, fine, we can use those two orns before the extraction, but 'til then we'll have t'do what we can around what needs doin'."

"There is nothing stressful in my current workload..." Prowl began.

"Other than the time y'spend in the office. Gotta be rested, remember?"

"We will take this into consideration." Prowl assured her. "Is that all we need to know? Be rested and take the supplements before and after?"

"It's also extremely important that you only overload once. If the spark forms and you continue it will disperse."

"Stress and reflex." Prowl mused. "Yes, that makes sense."

"How is this diff'rent from bonding?" Jazz asked, garnering a startled look from Prowl.

"You won't end up bonded by mistake." she smiled, having answered that questions many times before. "Bonding requires a great deal of control and focus; firewalls have to be lowered and systems synched, and in spite of all the romantic stories, any attempt to physically stimulate during the process is a distraction which will stop the bond from forming."

"Well that's a relief." Jazz grinned back at her. "Wouldn't want any accidents. _That'd_ be kinda messy, eh Prowler?"

"Could we please return to the topic at hand?" Prowl asked stiffly. "We each have other tasks to complete this morning."

"Once the spark has formed it becomes even more important to stay rested."

"How long will I carry the spark?"

"Optimally, three orns. In the first two orns it is still stabilising and any attempt at extraction risks dissipation. Beyond the third orn the supplements will lose their efficacy in your systems, and the newspark will begin to be reabsorbed. I'll run scans twice each orn in case there are complications, and..."

"What sort o'complications?" Jazz interrupted sharply.

"Nothing dangerous to the carrier." she assured him. "Really it's just to monitor the sparkling. Occasionally, for no apparent reason, it will start to fade regardless of efforts made to protect it."

"In which case, what can be done?" Prowl asked.

"Well, in most cases, if we catch the signs early we can strengthen the carrier with energy boosts and forced stasis."

"An' if that doesn't work, or ain't possible?" Jazz asked softly.

"Then we would recommend allowing the spark to reabsorb. The carrier is always of primary importance."

"Y'hear that?" Jazz scolded his mate. "You overwork an' we won't get anywhere at all."

Prowl looked thoughtful, but simply rose.

"Very well, I believe that's all we needed. I shall check in with you regularly to keep appraised of the condition of the other sparkers, and to keep you informed of our progress."

"Yes sir. And here, this contains more detailed instructions for you to refer to. If you have any further questions, please just let me know."

* * *

Sideswipe groaned, dropping sulkily onto the couch.

"I _hate_ being bored."

Beside him Sunstreaker did not so much as grunt in acknowledgement, but Sideswipe knew his twin shared his sentiment. In fact, his brother's mood was darker than it had been since the destruction of the _Escaphalion_.

Sideswipe glanced across at the corner table which was scattered with Sunstreaker's sketchings. Most of them were of Bluestreak. They were both missing the talkative gunner, and with Prowl refusing to disclose his location they could not even send him a message. It was frustrating.

"Not drawing today?"

"Don't feel like it."

"So what's got you in a mood?"

"Prowl says he's going to split."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning. He announced it while I was on guard duty in the command centre - said Jazz would take over his duties when it happened, then the two of them headed off to talk to Circuitbreaker."

Sideswipe stared at his brother, realising what Sunstreaker was thinking.

"He's not going to split, they're going to _make_." he said slowly. "Prowl's a carrier. Must be. But..."

"But Jazz doesn't know about Nolan." Sunstreaker finished the thought bitterly. "He doesn't know about it going wrong. No-one does."

"But Ratchet..."

"Ratchet's _gone_ , remember? Who knows how good this other medic is? And Jazz doesn't even know there's anything to worry about."

"He might've told him by now."

Sunstreaker gave him a dirty look, and Sideswipe conceded that that was unlikely.

"If this is what he was planning, then why'd he bring us? We're the only ones who could give away the secret."

"I dunno." Sunstreaker grumbled. "But I don't like it."

"What're we going to do?"

Sunstreaker shrugged, and Sideswipe leaned back against the couch, brooding.

"I wish Blue was here." he muttered. "Wonder where they sent him?"

"He'll be safe, wherever he is. Prowl would've seen to that."

"Yeah. Question is, how come the mech's clever enough to keep everyone else safe, and still manages to completely forget to look after himself?"

Sunstreaker shrugged.

"I'm starting to think that's maybe why we're here - he keeps us around when he does the crazy stuff."

Sideswipe scowled.

"Even if he does just split, the Cons'll be all over him."

"Suits me, I could do with a good fight."

Sideswipe smiled at the sentiment, but he was inwardly troubled and knew his twin felt the same. This seemed like a very bad idea.

* * *

Prowl looked over the instructions one last time, shook his head faintly at his own nervousness, and picked up the cube containing the special prescription energon. Jazz smiled tightly, raising his own cube of regular energon.

"Here goes, huh?"

The liquid tasted vile, as though badly processed, and Prowl grimaced as he swallowed.

"Can't be that bad." Jazz declared at his reaction.

"You're not the one who has to drink it." Prowl pointed out, lying carefully back on the berth and spreading his legs, running through the data again in his mind.

The instructions were mortifyingly explicit but also clinically detached, making him wonder vaguely if the authors had ever actually experienced physical intimacy or whether they had just observed others. The thought did not help and he dismissed it.

The carrier should have as little physical exertion as possible, so ideally would be underneath and should be submissive, allowing his partner to control the physical part of their coupling. Spike stimulation was to be avoided as far as possible but valve stimulation was strongly encouraged, particularly if full penetration including hardline connection between spike tip and valve apex could be achieved - not always possible given the different frame types and sizes but fortunately he and Jazz were both of the same basic build. Circuitbreaker had given them some extra lubricant to use in case the artificiality of the situation made it too difficult to produce enough lubricant in the normal fashion. Given how surreal all of this currently felt, it was probably a good thing.

"One overload." Jazz murmured, extending his spike and making use of the lubricant.

Prowl looked up at the ceiling, continuing to review the instructions. One overload. Spark exposure was only to occur once full penetration had been achieved and overload was to be sought as soon after that as possible to ensure maximum energy availability. If the contact was prolonged it would reduce the available energy quotient, and if there was a second overload it may well disrupt the creation.

"I feel like some kind of drone prostitute." Prowl grumbled as his partner climbed over him and settled between his legs.

"Nah, other way round." Jazz corrected him, kissing him gently. "I'm the one who's gotta do all the work, remember?"

That was true. The instructions were quite clear that while the carrier had to overload to generate the energy release required for the creation, it was not as important for the sparker to reach fulfilment - the very presence of Jazz's spark would provide sufficient energy to help produce the newspark. In fact, if the sparker did _not_ overload simultaneously and the spark _did_ form, it was imperative that the connection be broken immediately. Jazz had been given a portable scanner to confirm the newspark's presence in case they were unsure.

Most importantly, apparently, they should abstain from any other intimate contact between attempts, to improve the likelihood of success.

"You have the scanner?"

"Within reach." Jazz responded solemnly, then abruptly laughed. "Primus, Prowler, this is so _awkward_. How in the pit does anyone ever manage it?"

"Practice, I suppose. So much for my plans of enjoying this." Prowl sighed regretfully, then reached up to drape his arms over Jazz's shoulders. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Jazz smiled, then leaned down to press their helms together. "Stop frettin' about it. It'll happen this time or it won't, an' if it doesn't then we'll just try again. I love you."

"Love you too."


	74. Part 14: Truth will out, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 6 of 10

Ratchet made the final small adjustments, sealing first the spark chamber and then the outer armour, and finally initiating the boot up sequence on the basic processor. With that, his part of the job was complete, and he moved back a few paces, letting Optimus and Elita crowd in.

"I had no idea it was so simple." Bumblebee commented, having watchet the entire process with fascination.

Ratchet grunted.

"It's only simple if you know what you're doing."

"But of course you do. We're lucky to have you."

"Well, sparklings aren't really my thing."

Still, he had to admit that it felt good to be performing a procedure that was not directly related to battle damage. Perhaps Fuselink had had the right idea after all - there was something beautiful about watching a sparkling activate. If only he could be sure he would not end up with this little one on his operating table in the future.

On the berth, Optimus had now lifted the still-immobile sparkling into his lap, Elita sitting at his side. Given the flickering of the sparkling's optics, it would still be a few clicks yet before he became conscious, still working through all the early programming protocols.

"So you were saying yesterday that newlings can't control their colouration?" Bumblebee asked conversationally.

"They don't have the programming for it until their first upgrade." Ratchet answered absently, monitoring the sparkling's progress.

"But what if there's a shortage?" Bumblebee asked.

Ratchet looked at the minibot mildly.

"Not upgrading on time doesn't do any harm, just gets frustrating for the sparkling. But that's not a problem with this one, he'll get his upgrades when he should."

"I wonder what colours he'll be."

"No way of telling."

That was not entirely true. Ratchet could make an educated guess that the sparkling would be shades of yellow or orange, maybe with a little red as well. It was an inexact science, but one of his colleagues had been studying it before the war and the predictions were nearly seventy-five percent accurate.

The sparkling chirred quietly, optics lighting up fully for the first time and focusing on Optimus, asking who he was in the very plain language of binary click. Optimus clicked back, and Ratchet ran a quick scan. Everything was running optimally.

"So when does the surrogate caretaker arrive?"

"We're going to her." Bumblebee explained. "Not far, just a few groons flight away."

"Tomorrow." Optimus spoke up, not looking away from his sparkling. "We'll go tomorrow."

"The more time you spend with him now, the more of an imprint you'll make with him." Ratchet warned. "I thought you wanted to pretend there was no connection between you?"

"He will be raised by his assigned mentor." Optimus agreed placidly. "From tomorrow. Bumblebee: send the agreed code. We will be delayed by a single orn, but otherwise everything is running to schedule."

* * *

Pulse accepted the message in the comms room and set it aside, pinging the two officers on the base. Prowl sent an immediate response that he would collect it at the end of the shift; Jazz's answer came through several breems later saying that he was busy and he should ask Prowl.

Since the end of shift was only a groon away, Pulse did not bother locking the pad away and simply subspaced it instead.

A mere three hundred clicks after the signal for changeover, Prowl appeared at the door and Pulse handed over the datapad, watching the SIC's reaction for any sign of what the encrypted message might mean.

It was a futile hope. Prowl glanced at the message, nodded approvingly, then deleted it and returned the now empty datapad.

"Thank you."

"Good news, sir?"

"Indeed."

That was all the response he got, the officer sweeping back out. Bringing up the copy he had retained, Pulse stared at the message in frustration. It used only a basic encryption that he could break without even thinking, but the message itself was a code of some sort. Something about adding 'one' to an unspecified timeframe and preparing energon goodies?

Giving up in disgust, he deleted his copy and turned back to his work. He would probably never know what it meant. Sometimes working in the comms room was the most frustrating role of all.

* * *

"This is becoming tiresome." Prowl huffed irritably, dropping the emptied cube carelessly onto the floor and folding his arms tightly across his chest. "I feel like a misfunctioning drone."

Jazz put an arm across his shoulder in a sideways hug, pulling them both back against the wall and tilting his helm against Prowl's shoulder.

"These things take time."

"Time. We don't _have_ time. We've already wasted three decaorns. Optimus is due to arrive here in six orns and it takes three to reach the optimal time for extraction."

"An' Circuit specifically said gettin' stressed'd make it harder." Jazz pointed out with infuriating calm.

Prowl rubbed at his faceplates tiredly, frustrated with the entire process.

He had expected this to be the easy part to complete. He and Jazz were entirely familiar with each other, there was none of the hesitation over full-sharing that the medic had warned about. By her descriptions he had understood that a sparkling in fact started to form with _every_ full-sharing, but that it usually destabilised long before it could be detected.

When this method of creation had been first discovered it was pure chance that the spark formed at all, but vorns of research had determined the required conditions and he was complying with them: sharing only when fully fueled, taking heavy metal supplements, permitting only a single overload with each attempt and immediately refueling with a specially formulated mix. But after nine failed attempts he was beginning to get agitated.

What if there was something wrong with him, something Circuitbreaker had not warned about? What if Nolan's attack all those vorns ago had had some effect that could not be seen but which was having an impact? Perhaps it was all futile after all.

"It'll happen when it does." Jazz was continuing. "An' if it doesn't, then we go ahead wit'the split an' try again some other time. That's how ya planned it, remember?"

"I don't want to split." he complained, feeling petulant.

"I know."

Prowl frowned.

"You do want this too, don't you?"

Jazz grunted and opened the bond wide. Prowl sighed, basking in the clear sense of his mate's own irritation which had been concealed in an attempt to keep _him_ calm, and lay down again. Cuddling in, he rested his cheek against Jazz's still-heated chest, listening to their systems slowly cycling down. There was no romance in any of this. No real passion or fun.

Jazz stirred, sensing where his thoughts were going.

"Don't feel like a nap, babe?"

"I'd rather do other things."

"Like go for a walk?"

Prowl ignored the attempt at humour.

"It'd be nice to share with you without having to worry about following a clinical formula."

He caught just a flicker of interest before Jazz tightened up on his end of the bond, wrapping an arm around Prowl's shoulder.

"We're both tired, an' we both burned off quite a bit o'fuel that last try."

Prowl pulled away and shifted to straddle Jazz's thighs, kissing him firmly.

"I don't care. I'm frustrated and I want a bit of normality."

"Me too." Jazz admitted. "Still, it puts the whole plan at risk: we ain't meant t'fool around between attempts, remember? Are you sure?"

"Completely. Frag the whole thing - I don't care anymore. We'll try again sometime when there's no time pressure. For now I just want my life back."

* * *

When it happened the difference was unmistakable and Jazz did not even bother to reach for the scanner Circuitbreaker had given them; he _knew_. Just as the overload had struck he had felt a strong tugging, and through the bond he had known Prowl felt it too. The closest thing he could compare it to was the physical sensation of their bonding, though this time there had been none of the mental merging of that experience.

Initially dazed, he was sorely tempted just to fall into charge but he managed to slide off to one side and fumble for one of the handful of cubes they had stacked beside the berth for convenience. His coordination was poor and he dropped two with clumsy fingers before successfully bringing one to his mouth. The taste was so absolutely vile he nearly spat the first mouthful out again but the boost to his energy levels was both immediate and impressive. Forcing himself to finish the cube, marvelling at Prowl's fortitude in willingly choking it down orn after orn, he then reached for another and held it to Prowl's lips, helping him to drink.

"I think I know why we were meant t'be fully fuelled." he slurred and Prowl grunted back at him, curling onto his side.

"Need charge."

"Not yet, you gotta drink at least one more first."

Prowl groaned and tried to comply but dropped offline halfway through and Jazz stared down at him wondering whether to wake him to finish it, then decided not to. It could wait.

Stupid instructions, he grumbled to himself as he settled back down on the berth, pulling Prowl close. The creation had had nothing whatsoever to do with spike penetration, and they should have realised that. If it really did then none of those breeders in the factories would ever have produced anything at all. And thinking back he could remember other times when he had felt a similar sensation when they had been full spark sharing. Not nearly so strong, but that was probably the influence of the medicated energon Prowl had been drinking.

Just how many times had Prowl nearly ended up carrying with neither of them the wiser, the spark failing to form through lack of necessary sustenance in those vital first few breems?

Well, he knew the difference now. If they were ever doing this again, he could think of several changes he would make to the planning and the first one would be to throw the instructions away and just let it all happen at its own pace.

He traced a finger wonderingly over Prowl's chest, his partner too exhausted to even stir at the touch. How amazing to think that a new life had just been created, that they had done this between them. How could anyone ever believe that spark creation could be the work of Unicron? Only Primus could be behind such a miracle.

Jazz smiled, settling back down beside him, holding him close.

"Charge well, babe. Countdown's started now, we're on our way."

* * *

Prowl stirred and Jazz stroked his cheek gently.

"Mornin', Sparkles."

Prowl groaned, optics dimly lit.

"You're going to have to stop calling me that."

"Ain't never gonna stop callin' ya that no matter how many times we do this. How're ya feelin'?"

"Tired."

"Still?" Jazz asked, languid humour turning instantly to sharp concern, but Prowl was pushing himself into a sitting position.

"I'm fine. I'll check in with Circuitbreaker as usual before my shift and..."

"I'm comin' wit'ya."

"Won't that look strange?"

"I don't care. We're in charge, we make the rules, an' I need t'know more about how things're goin' if I'm gonna take over your duties while you're splittin'. An' you _are_ about to announce you've finally set y'self a date, right?"

Prowl laughed tiredly.

"Alright, I'll concede."

"Good. Cause I'd win."

"Yes you would." Prowl smiled, then tottered a little as he rose. "No, don't fuss, I'm alright. Just a little drained. Perhaps I should have some more of that energon before we go. Where is it?"

"I put it away, didn't think we'd need it again so soon." Jazz explained, getting up and retrieving a cube from the storage cupboard, then pressing it into Prowl's hands. "Here."

The medicated fuel had an instantly visible effect on Prowl just as it had for Jazz the night before, his optics brightening and his stance steadying at the first sip.

"That is definitely better." he announced as he finished the cube.

"Yeah, the stuff has its purpose after all."

"I should hope so, given how much of it I've had to drink just to get to this point. Ugh."

"What, the taste?"

"I feel dizzy."

"Sit." Jazz ordered, pushing him back down onto the side of the berth. "I'll call Circuit t'come here."

"Absolutely not, it will draw attention. Just give me another cube. And perhaps some mid-grade, my tank feels dry."

"Comin' right up."

* * *

Circuitbreaker smiled as the first scan results came up on her screen, then frowned faintly as the report continued. This was not right. Nothing to be too worried about yet, but not what was expected. The sparkling was healthy and registering within the optimal range, but the carrier's systems were far more depleted than they should be. Perhaps he had not yet fuelled this morning?

"So?" Prowl asked after a moment.

"Well the spark is looking healthy, there are no signs of destabilisation. How long since it formed?"

"6.072 groons." Jazz responded promptly. "That important?"

"Only in that it means it's probably not going to spontaneously destabilise now." she responded reassuringly. "Usually that would happen in the first three groons if it's going to happen at all."

"Well that's a relief!"

"Indeed." Prowl agreed more formally. "Now as to my current lethargy. That was not in the notes you gave me of what to expect."

"No. I'll do some more analysis of these results, but for now it looks as though you just need some more rest and fuel and you'll be fine. But your systems are very depressed right now, so if I could trouble you with the time for an infusion as a booster that would definitely help."

"I think she's sayin' you need t'stay here for a bit." Jazz considered. "I can take over the mornin' briefin' but you'd have t'postpone your meetin' wit' Ultra Xerox - I've got an agent comin' in I've gotta catch up with."

"How long will this take?"

"One groon."

"Very well, I will remain. Jazz, could you please instruct my staff?"

"Will do. Catch ya later."

And with that Jazz sauntered out again, leaving her with her patient.

"Alright, now lets get you sorted out."

* * *

Prowl's systems restarted smoothly as he came out of medical stasis, and he was relieved to find everything responding more normally. He still felt slightly tired, but the lassitude of earlier had passed. Circuitbreaker reached across him and disconnected a sensor that had been attached to his chest above his spark chamber, and smiled down at him.

"All done, you're ready to go. And I've found an explanation for your reaction: some carriers have this as a normal part of the process. It doesn't cause any problems, it just means that you'll burn through fuel much more quickly than normal and will need to rest more." Her smile faltered a little. "I suppose that _is_ a problem, but I've thought of a solution to that, too. Everyone knows you're going to split, and everyone also knows you work more than standard shifts. I could post an order that you're to be on limited duties prior to the split to reduce your stress levels before the procedure. I'd probably have done it anyway, if we were really doing that."

"That sounds feasible." he put in when she paused, sitting up cautiously and pleased to find that he was not dizzy. "But is it necessary?"

"Well it's better to be safe. If that _is_ what's affecting you then it's going to get worse. You may even start to purge if you get overstressed. Just make sure you get plenty of rest and fuel, and I'll drop off some more of the supplement mix, and you'll be fine."

* * *

Jazz was pleased with the arrangements at false-Syrenex. Afterimage and his unit had added some nice touches to the base, making it look more like someone had been living here, and they had the shuttle ready to launch at a breem's notice. They were a good team, reliable and well organised; the only ones he would trust with this task even though at best it meant losing their skills for centuries and at worst losing them entirely.

Such was the way of things in their line of work.

"Everything's in place." Afterimage reported as he completed his circuit. "We're ready to go on your signal."

"Walk me through the plan again."

The agent looked mildly frustrated, and Jazz knew how he felt - he had always been annoyed by Curveball's insistence on revisiting details they both already knew - but there was no room for error here.

"We're waiting for the last of the sparklings to be activated, and then you'll leave the base. You'll send a signal from Ovacalix some time in the following two orns to let us know that Syrenex is sealed. Then we'll wait as long again before triggering the reactor meltdown."

" _Unless_ you get the alert signal that the Cons are on their way." Jazz reminded him. "Next?"

"We send the prepared distress signal just on the Autobot frequencies, fully encrypted, then we set off the charges and take off."

"For the love o'Primus don't frag up the sequence." Jazz interrupted. "The last thing we need is for one o'ya to really get trapped here."

"We won't."

"An' if ya do?"

"We _won't_."

"But if ya do." Jazz insisted.

Afterimage glared at him.

"I've got everyone's code signal. We won't leave anyone behind alive."

Jazz nodded.

"Good. Now see that ya don't need to use it. So. You launch. Then what?"

"We send the second message and head out towards the space bridge."

"And if there's someone in your way?"

"We dodge back into the asteroid field and try to lose them."

"And if ya can't?"

Afterimage shook his helm in disgust.

"You're so slagging morbid, Meister."

"I'm alive." Jazz retorted. "An' mostly that's cause I knew exactly what I was gonna do whatever happened. So. If ya can't shake'em?"

"Then I take out the crew, put the ship on a crash course, and shoot myself."

"Good. Now. The space bridge."

"We send the third message, broadcast, saying we're going to take our chances going through the bridge. We drop a few mines on the way, which will slow down any pursuit, and just as we're entering the bridge we trigger the charge that we've set up."

Without moving his head, his focus obscured by his visor, Jazz let his gaze slide back to the ship. As careful as they were being, there was no guarantee that Afterimage's team would survive this, and every one of them knew it. Destabilising a bridge behind you gave a thirty-eight percent likelihood of survival. Entering one that was already unbalanced that figure dropped to less than one percent. If the timing was wrong and the charge went off even a few clicks too early, they would all die.

"An' what about when ya get to the other side?" he asked nonchalantly, as though there were no other possible outcome.

"We drop the timer bomb and take off at full speed. If we're unlucky, a few of the Con ships'll get through behind us to chase, but once that bomb goes off the bridge will be destroyed - they'll be stuck in the middle of nowhere just like we are, and the odds'll be better. We run, we hide, and when we're sure we're alone we start trying to figure out where we've come out and how to get back to Cybertron."

"Might take ya a long, long time." Jazz mused.

"Maybe then the war will be over by the time we get back."

"Yeah, maybe." Jazz allowed, then clapped the other mech on the back and started heading towards his own small shuttle. "Well, it's all soundin' on track, so I'll leave ya to it. Rough timetable is twelve orns from now, but we need to be ready to move early if there're any signs of movement from the Cons."

"Meister?"

"Yeah?"

"Is all this really worth the effort?"

Jazz shook his head.

"Who knows? Mechs like me an' you - we jus' do what we're told needs doin'. Simple as that."


	75. Part 14: Truth will out, 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 7 of 10

The door closed and Prowl put his helm in his hands. He had completely underestimated how enervated he would be, and the purging this afternoon certainly had not helped matters. Yes, Circuitbreaker had mentioned it as a possibility, but he had expected to be able to get through a single shift without collapsing. Currently he was wondering whether he could make it through the next half-groon.

Raising his head again, he turned back to the duty roster he had been trying to rework since coming on duty. If he was going to be this badly affected then there was no sense in having himself as a backup to any shift until after the extraction.

He paused, pressing his palm firmly against his chestplates over his spark as he felt an uncomfortable twinge. Nothing Circuitbreaker had said had suggested that there should be any pain, but then she did not know about what had happened with Nolan. He wondered again if he should mention it to the medic and again dismissed the thought: if there was anything actually wrong she would see it and he would admit to it then.

The ache passed and he returned his attention to his work. He was scheduled to have several checkups between now and the extraction so there would be plenty of opportunity for them to identify any issues. In the meantime, he would finish this task and then give up for the orn. He had had enough.

* * *

Jazz stretched out on the berth facing Prowl, kissing him gently as he stirred.

"Hey there. Still tired, I see."

Prowl grunted sleepily but did not online his optics.

"Circuitbreaker said to rest when I became wearied. I'm doing as ordered."

"Makes a change. But she also said t'keep fuellin'. Wanna go to the rec room for a bit?"

"Not particularly."

"So I should bring you something instead? Whaddaya feel like? Just energon? I heard someone's mixed up a batch o'goodies, though they're probably awful. That last lot were."

"Mm. Not now."

Prowl still did not move, and Jazz frowned a little.

"You really _are_ tired, aren't you? Does Circuitbreaker know you're like this?"

"I told you." Prowl mumbled. "She said I should rest."

"Yeah, still. This don't seem quite right."

Prowl sighed heavily and onlined his optics dimly.

"She said it wasn't anything to worry about, so long I didn't overstress. It turns out that a single shift of paperwork counts as stress. Worse, I mightn't recover my full energy levels until after the extraction so she is...ngh..."

Jazz grabbed at Prowl's arm as he winced and twitched.

"Prowl?"

"It's nothing." Prowl hissed tightly. "It'll pass. Just..." He broke off then slumped, the pain clearly passing as quickly as it had come. "Just a twinge. It comes and goes."

"And she knows that?" Jazz demanded.

Prowl offlined his optics again, drifting back towards charge.

"She checked me over less than two groons ago, Jazz. I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well, okay." Jazz agreed unhappily. "Maybe I'll leave ya to it."

Prowl grunted, reaching out.

"I'd rest better with you here."

Jazz smiled, reassured. If Prowl were truly hiding something, he would want to be alone. And besides, it was a nice idea, cuddling up together.

"Sure, Sparkles. Whatever you want."

* * *

Bumblebee made a decision. He left the group of arguing mechs and femmes and paced back to the shuttle. It was time to send a message.

The next part of his mission was to hand over the Prime's sparkling to the selected caretaker and then rendezvous back with the _Beacon_. It should have been straightforward, and initially it was.

They had travelled to the remote planet where the femme Azure was living, a sole survivor of a failed Neutral enclave. A virulent rust infection had claimed the others of the small community, but Azure had isolated herself and remained safe. Tragically, the sparkling she had been raising had also died.

She had been perfectly willing to take on the sparkling they had 'found', to claim it as her own and tell no-one the truth. But when they had prepared to leave, things went wrong.

She would not leave the planet.

She claimed that it was the only place in the universe safe from the Decepticons, that neither the Decepticons nor the Autobots had ever once come here in all the centuries since the enclave had been established and so it was the only place that was safe to raise a sparkling. She would not leave, and before they could choose to go without her she hid the sparkling.

Optimus was growing increasingly worried about his sparkling as the groons ticked past and there was no sign of him, but his agitation did not sway her. Elita tried reasoning with her, but she would not be rational about it. Ratchet tried scaring her with the threat that the rust infection might return, but she insisted she knew how to avoid it.

It was a stalemate, and there was no sign of any quick resolution. Bumblebee had tried to search for the sparkling himself, but there was a maze of underground corridors - a search could take a very long time, and they did not have time to waste. The schedule he had been given was rigid, and they were already behind following Optimus's insistence on an extra orn with the sparkling before this stage.

There was no alternative, it was time to seek help from someone who could solve just about anything.

* * *

~Sideswipe to Jazz. ~

There was a longer than usual pause before the other mech responded.

~What's up?~ the answer came finally.

~Message just came in for you. You free to come pick it up or you want me to drop it off?~

~I'll be right there.~

Sideswipe looked around the comms room, boredly. Seven more orns and he would be out of this place, and it could not come soon enough. Pretty much everyone else here was settling in for what was going to be a long-term habitation. They did not want to gamble, they did not want to talk about battles or Decepticons, and they did not particularly like him and his brother walking around fully armed.

Which was about the only fun left to have, he mused, unnecessarily cleaning his favourite gun one more time and grinning at the disapproving cleaner who quickly hurried back out again.

"No-one should ever look that happy while workin' a quiet shift." Jazz greeted him, walking in. "Where's my message?"

"Right here. Handled it myself."

"And tried to decrypt it?" Jazz asked, sitting down at the indicated terminal and beginning to key in some command codes.

"Mech, please, I'm a professional."

"That's why I'm askin'." Jazz grinned back.

Sideswipe met the expression with a look of innocence that clearly did not fool the TIC, then changed the subject.

"I hear Prowl's being sensible and actually resting like he should before the split. What'd you do: drug him?"

He was fishing for information. How much did Jazz know? Was Prowl really splitting, or was he carrying? Was he okay, or were there strange symptoms to worry about? Frag it all, he wanted so badly to be able to ask Prowl straight, but the mech had been 'indisposed' for orns.

"He wants this t'go right." Jazz responded, focused on the screen as he scrolled slowly through the scrambled text, no doubt relying upon an installed decryption to read it. "Being stubborn at this point just means riskin' it goin' wrong an' missin' out."

Reaching the bottom of the message, Jazz abruptly deleted it and rose.

"Is Codex on duty?"

"Yeah."

"Right."

"Everything okay, Jazz?"

"Course it is. Keep up the good work."

* * *

Prowl heard Jazz calling to him and tried to ignore him. He was _tired_ and Jazz knew that; it had only been a short time since Jazz had joined him.

"I'm sorry, Prowler, but you gotta talk t'me."

"Later."

"No, now. Please, babe, it's important."

Groaning, Prowl turned on his optics to find Jazz standing beside the berth looking upset, and the anxiety finally spread through to him. Prowl sat up in alarm, ignoring a stab of sharp pain from his spark.

"What's happened? An attack?"

"Prime wants me t'go do somethin' for him. _Now_."

"But Prime's not here..." Prowl began, then hesitated. "How long will you be away?"

"I dunno. Gotta go to him t'get the details."

"You're going now?"

"Sooner gone, sooner back." Jazz grimaced. "I'll do what I can to be back in time, but that ain't even the worst of it. I don't like leavin' ya like this..."

"I'm fine." Prowl dismissed the concern. "I'm just tired."

"But you'll be in command."

"I'll manage; it's quiet here at the moment anyway, and I've already delegated most things. And if I need help I'll tell the twins."

Jazz nodded firmly.

"Good idea. Better yet, I'll brief them before I go. An' I'll get back just as soon as I can. Just be sensible, okay Sparkles?"

"Go." Prowl assured him. "It'll be fine. _We_ 'll be fine."

That made Jazz smile, gaze flicking down to Prowl's chest, then he nodded sharply and left.

Slumping back, Prowl settled back down to charge. Circuitbreaker had assured him that this lethargy would pass, he just hoped she was right.

* * *

Jazz was not amused, Bumblebee could tell, but the mech did not bother to waste time arguing. He listened to Bumblebee's report, then went straight to the other three without a single comment.

"Seems to me," he summed up once the confusion over his sudden presence died down, "she's pretty much certain no Cons're gonna come anywhere near here. Right?"

"And of course she's right." Ratchet grumbled. "That's the whole reason we came out this way to do this - there's nothing out here worth fighting over."

"The longer we're here, though, the more likely someone will get curious and come looking." Optimus mused. "Particularly since there has been regular comm traffic to and from this sector."

Bumblebee squirmed a little under the Prime's gaze, but Jazz just shrugged.

"Well the answer's simple enough. We show her a Con."

"Yes, that might work." Elita nodded, quickly warming to the idea. "She'll run straight to him to protect him, and then bring him out to get away."

"An' if she doesn't, Bee can chase after her an' figure out where they've gone." Jazz shrugged, though Bumblebee could feel the weight of his gaze. "Right, Bee?"

It was true, he had spent vorns training with Hound as a tracker and scout. He had even been on a few low risk missions. This was his first serious assignment. And now, under Meister's scrutiny, he had a job to do.

"Sure thing, Jazz. I'll find him."

"Good. Then lets get started."

* * *

Temporarily safe in the privacy of the consultation room, Prowl leaned against the wall, pressing his palm hard against his chestplates.

The pain was coming more frequently now. Maybe it was time to admit the truth?

But which truth?

The question ate at him. Which piece of information was needed more? Logically it made no sense for this to be related to the bond: bond pairs had been carriers in the past, and Circuitbreaker had made no mention of any other effects. It had to be whatever Nolan had done to him. But what _had_ Nolan done to him? He remembered so little, and the twins had only come in at the end so they could not help.

The pain faded again and he paced anxiously, feeling tired but too agitated to stay still. He would have to say something. Mention that... that he had tried to carry before and something had gone wrong? But she knew he had not known he was a carrier, so then the truth would come out that it had been forced and she would certainly want more details on that, and when she found out that it was only a century ago...

"Sorry to have kept you waiting." Circuitbreaker apologised as she returned. "I've got the latest results here and everything's completely on track."

He stared at her in shock.

"There is nothing wrong at all? No sign of anything?"

"Well obviously your own systems are depleted, you can feel that yourself I'm sure, but the sparkling is perfectly healthy."

She walked over to him and put a comforting hand on his arm.

"It's quite understandable that you would be upset with your partner being called away so abruptly, and when you're carrying emotional upsets can have other effects, but it's purely temporary. What you need most of all is rest. Once the extraction is done I'm sure you'll find your systems reset very quickly. In the meantime, perhaps I should have a talk to Codex and insist that you are not disturbed so that you can rest peacefully?"

He sank down on the side of the berth, only half-listening to her suggestions.

Could she be right? Could this really just be his own worry combining with the unfortunate reality that he was predisposed to this lethargy? She seemed very sure, and there was no need to complicate matters now if everything was fine.

He could cope for two more orns. Less than that remained, in fact. He had managed with the pain for two full decaorns after Nolan's attack, and now he had a medic monitoring him closely.

It was best just to leave things as they were.

* * *

Optimus walked Jazz back to his shuttle, pleased at the quick resolution.

"Thank you for your help, Jazz."

"No worries, but I'd better be gettin' back."

"Back?" Optimus echoed. "I thought you would go on from here, since you're due to go in a few orns anyway."

Jazz shook his head.

"Nice idea, boss, but I gotta go back to Syrenex for a bit."

"Is something wrong there?"

"Nah, nothin' wrong. Prowl's due t'split in a bit over an orn an' I said I'd be back for the activation if I could."

Optimus hesitated, trying to imagine his stoic second in command wanting a sparkling, and Jazz chuckled.

"Hard t'picture, I know, but it was his decision. An' besides, he almost trebled the number o'volunteers - seems like they needed some proof that ev'rythin' possible was gonna be done t'keep the li'l ones safe, an' if Prowl's gonna take the risk himself, then it must be safe."

Optimus nodded, the answer making perfectly logical sense.

"So how many sparklings are there in total?"

"Countin' your one, twenty-four."

Optimus stopped, startled.

"So few!"

Jazz tilted his head to look at him sideways.

"Ain't that many mechs who wanna take the risk o'creatin' a sparklin' who either ain't gonna make it to his upgrades, or who'll end up fightin' along wit'the rest of us. As it is, Prowl'll be the only one leavin' his sparklin' behind - no-one else was comfortable wit' that idea, so they're either stayin' there or not involved at all."

Optimus frowned. They had discussed the possibility of soldiers leaving their sparklings with caretakers, and both Jazz and Ratchet had tried to tell him it would not be popular under the current circumstances, but he had been determined that everyone should have the option. Activating a sparkling of his own, he found his attitude had changed. He did not like being separated from his sparkling, not with all the dangers he knew were out there.

It was at the bidding of the Matrix that he had pushed for this move against the advice of his three most senior staff, and he still felt comfortable that following that instruction had been the correct move. But had all these elaborate and risky plans really been worthwhile, for such a small number of sparklings?

"Well, I'd better be off." Jazz announced, taking the last few steps towards the small shuttle. "I'll see ya soon boss."

"Be safe, Jazz."

"Always." the answer came back with the flash of a broad grin, and Optimus backed up so Jazz could launch.

Turning away, he paced back towards where Bumblebee and Ratchet were waiting. They would need to head off soon, themselves, in order to keep to Prowl's schedule.

He shook his head in bemusement. The idea of Prowl with a sparkling was strangely difficult to process. It was definitely something he would have to see for himself.

* * *

"Your move."

"You look tired."

"I _am_ tired." Prowl pointed out.

"Why?"

Prowl shook his head.

"A predictable if irritating side effect in a small percentage of cases, or so I'm told. Are you going to make your move?"

"So you're okay? Really?"

"Yes, Sunstreaker, I am okay. Really. Is there any reason I should not be?"

"Nolan."

"I'm fine."

"You haven't told anyone though, have you?" Sunstreaker accused him. "Not even Ratchet."

"Ratchet is not here. Circuitbreaker is monitoring me closely and thus far there have been no complications. She is not concerned; thus, neither am I."

"What if it takes time for the signs to show? You told Jazz at least?"

"No, and neither will you and nor will your brother." Prowl told him firmly. "I will not have you upsetting him with unpleasant details of something that happened so long ago. He is anxious enough as it is, and those details are irrelevant."

"He'll find out eventually." Sunstreaker warned. "He finds out _everything_ eventually."

"Not from you, he won't. And while he is more than capable of tracking down every piece of gossip in the galaxy, there _is_ no gossip about this because there are only three of us who know. Correct?"

Sunstreaker felt uneasy about that argument. It was true that Jazz would likely be upset to hear how Nolan had treated Prowl; who wouldn't be? But Prowl had suffered a great deal in that ordeal, and at the very least Ratchet should be warned. Ratchet, who was so very conveniently not present.

"I won't tell Jazz." he promised.

"You won't tell anyone." Prowl corrected him crisply, then leaned forward a little. "Sunstreaker, please. You and Sideswipe have kept this secret this long, is it so hard to keep it for just a little longer? The extraction is scheduled for eleven joors from now - less than a single orn. I will continue to have Circuitbreaker monitor my health at short and regular intervals..."

"And you'll tell her if she finds anything?" Sunstreaker broke in.

Prowl sighed and leaned back again, looking tired.

"I am not a fool. Of course I will tell her if she finds anything untoward. But Jazz will find out only if he must: I would rather spare him that grief, particularly since I remember very little of it myself."

"Okay." Sunstreaker agreed, trusting Prowl to be pragmatic. "So play the game. Move, already."

"It's your turn to move, not mine."

"I knew that."

* * *

The kiss ended finally and Prowl leaned his forehead against Jazz's.

"That's a very nice way to wake up."

"You looked so cute lyin' there, I couldn't resist." Jazz retorted, but there was worry in his expression. "You're okay?"

"Yes. Happier now you're back. I wasn't sure you would make it."

"Wouldn't miss it for anythin' short o'the Unmaker himself." Jazz said firmly. "I hear you're off the roster completely an' Codex's in charge. How'd ya swing that?"

"Circuitbreaker came up with a plausible excuse that my role was far too stressful even on light duty and that the stress might damage the splitspark. She publicly ordered me off duty in the remaining time leading up to the procedure. Codex reports to me for approval on any major decisions, but apart from that I'm left in peace to rest. The twins have been in and out on your instructions but I fear I have been poor company."

"Circuit still thinks it's normal for you to be this tired?" Jazz pressed. "I've known a few carriers in my time, Sparkles, an' this ain't how it's supposed t'go."

"This is apparently unusual but not unheard of. Point two percent of carriers have difficulty regulating their systems while carrying; I happen to fall into that category."

"Huh."

"I can show you the research if it would help."

"Nah, that's fine. So long as you're okay."

Prowl smiled, stealing a quick kiss.

"I'm fine. So. Did you delegate the mission?"

"Hmm? Oh, nah, it didn't take that long to do. Had t'role play a bit, that's all, an' there ain't anyone else who can sorcel t'do it."

"This is for the femme who is going to be the mentor?"

"Yeah. Poor thing lost her own sparklin' to a rust infection. Sad case, but at least it'll keep this all a secret - far as she knows, they jus' found him somewhere an' need her t'look after him. The fewer who know Prime's got a sparklin', the better."

"Agreed. Did Optimus ask about anything here?"

"He was a bit surprised by the low numbers. Dunno why. Ratch an'I _told_ him the take up'd be low."

"Twenty-three." Prowl nodded. "There are only two scheduled for the splitting procedure after this one is extracted."

"Which is still booked for one point nine joors from now?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Jazz kissed Prowl's chest lightly, then pulled back in surprise and put his hand there.

"It's warm!"

Prowl smiled fondly at his mate's startlement.

"It's getting close to being ready for extraction."

Jazz stared a moment longer, then shook himself.

"I'd better go catch up wit' Codex. Get some more charge, I'll be back before ya miss me."

* * *

Sideswipe was disappointed to learn that Jazz had returned. He had been trying to think of an excuse for why he might get to watch the extraction, and so far all he had come up with was that he could hold Prowl's hand in Jazz's place with the other creator absent. That clearly was not going to work now.

Slag it, he wanted to be there.

Partly it was general curiosity: made sparks had always been rare, and were even rarer now, and the chance to witness an extraction might only come once in centuries. Mostly, though, he wanted reassurance that Prowl's lethargy truly was as normal as Circuitbreaker believed, that there really was no reason to be concerned.

It was hard to compare Prowl's condition now to what had happened after the escape from Plutes-1 because the circumstances were so different, but he was sure it was not normal for Prowl to be so deeply affected and he would not put it past the stubborn Praxian to have brushed off Circuitbreaker's concerns with some glib explanation.

Ratchet would not have been brushed off like that, but Prowl had cleverly ensured that he was doing this while the CMO was elsewhere. And while Prime was, for that matter, so he could not even be questioned by someone who could demand an answer.

But what was he telling Jazz? Surely Jazz was not accepting that Prowl's symptoms were normal when it was so obvious they were not? Jazz was not that stupid. He had thought that that meant Prowl had already privately told him about Nolan, but the reaction Sunny got when raising the issue made it clear that that was wrong.

Unhappy, and with time running out, Sideswipe went to the medbay and cornered the femme medic in a store room when she was retrieving something, closing the door for privacy.

"Why's Prowl so tired?" he demanded.

"Tired?" she echoed. "He's on leave to rest."

"I know he's carrying." Sideswipe told her bluntly. "Jazz left me and Sunny to watch over him while he went away, and I know he's exhausted. Why?"

"It's perfectly natural." she soothed him. "A very small percentage of carriers react this way, and it will pass after the extraction."

"Natural?" he echoed.

He had not expected that answer.

"Yes." she said firmly. "True, his is the first case I've ever seen personally, but then there have not been many carriers around recently. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment."

He let her go, bemused. Perhaps Prowl was right after all, and this had nothing to do with Nolan. In which case it was better to let the past remain undisturbed.

Still, he would feel a lot better once all this was over.


	76. Part 14: Truth will out, 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 8 of 10

Jazz lay on the couch with Prowl dozing in his lap, the heat from his chest warm under Jazz's palms. Less than two groons remained until the extraction, hardly any time at all, but with so much else to keep track of this was the first chance he had had to really consider what they had done.

"You're thinking hard." Prowl murmured, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Thought you'd nodded off again."

"I've spent enough time resting. What's bothering you?"

"The plans." Jazz confessed. "This place is gonna be sealed off. That spark in there is gonna be a full adult before we see him again - you sure you're still okay wit'that?"

"Better that than a sparkling to raise." Prowl pointed out. "I wouldn't know where to start. My sparklinghood, brief as it was, was hardly typical, and I certainly do not have time to act as a caretaker alongside my usual duties. Much better that someone else takes on that role."

"I guess." Jazz mused, rubbing absently as he felt Prowl tense in his arms at yet another surge of discomfort and then relax again as it subsided. "Ain't like I'm really cut out to be a great mentor m'self. Still, that's a long time."

"A long time." Prowl agreed placidly.

"An' the _Ark_." Jazz continued after a moment. "If it all goes well, we're probably gonna be gone even longer."

"That is possible."

"Prowl, why'd you wanna do this? Honestly? We can't choose to raise him even if we wanted to, which we both agree we don't. So why do it at all? It can't just've been t'get more volunteers to come forward."

Prowl shifted slightly, turning his head and resting his cheek against Jazz's shoulder.

"I was curious." he said eventually. "And if the _Ark_ plan fails and we are both lost, there is some... comfort... in the thought that a piece of us will live on."

The answer surprised him into a moment of quiet contemplation before he responded slowly.

"Prowler, that's downright romantic."

"Yes." Prowl sighed. "It appears you have corrupted me entirely. No doubt I shall next take up reciting badly written love poems."

He smiled at the jibe.

"Do you know any?"

"Well as a matter of fact I did look some up for just such an occasion as a conversation like this."

"And?"

"And trying to make sense of them brought me as close to a freeze as I've come in vorns."

Jazz chuckled, squeezing him gently.

"Never mind, love. There's plenty of time for me to corrupt you further yet."

* * *

Prowl lay back on the berth, trying to make himself comfortable but finding it difficult.

The ache from his spark had been a constant companion for the past few joors and he was looking forward to it disappearing once the sparkling was extracted. At least, he hoped that that would happen; if not, it was going to be awkward. It was getting difficult to divert Jazz's concern even now, and the last thing he needed was for his mate to say the wrong thing to the medic.

Shifting again restlessly he wished Jazz were here to rub at his chestplates. His partner had been fascinated by the warmth there and Prowl had discovered that his gentle rubbing was soothing. He could do with some soothing now, but Jazz had gone looking for Circuitbreaker.

Where was she? he wondered irritably. _They_ were here at the appointed time, in the designated room; why was _she_ not here as planned?

Finally the door opened and Jazz entered, alone.

"Now just calm down." Jazz began, his tone immediately making Prowl suspicious.

"What's going on?"

"Promise to stay put?"

"Stop delaying and explain." he growled.

Jazz grimaced.

"Ratchet's back."

Prowl sat bolt upright.

"What!"

Jazz shook his head, pressing him back down.

"No. You gotta settle. Gettin' stressed now ain't gonna help at all."

"She told him!"

"It ain't her fault, Sparkles. If it's anyone's, it's mine."

"What?"

"I told the boss bot I wanted t'be back in time for this. He musta told the doc, who then decided he'd come back an' do it himself since everythin' else is all done with. Only when he got here he found Circuit settin' up the equipment for this instead an' put it all together. I told'im you didn't want Prime t' know an' that's why ya never said anythin'. Got a bit of a lecture from him 'bout how he don't have t'tell Prime everythin' an' that you shouldn'ta been trusted to rest properly wit'out him here t'make sure of it..."

"I did!"

"I know, I know. Anyway, he's here now an' he's insistin', an' it ain't like you can jus' change your mind on doin' this now, so how 'bout we just take it as it comes, eh?"

Prowl slumped back and Jazz pressed a firm kiss to the centre of his chevron then pressed their helms together, rubbing his hands up and down his arms comfortingly.

"It's okay, Sparkles. He knows how many lives you've saved, he wants ya t'stay part o'the crew. He ain't gonna tell Prime about this."

"I don't suppose I could argue that his presence alone would be a stress?"

"Only if y'wanna make him cross. I don't think it'll keep him away, though."

"I'm not left with much choice, am I?"

"Not a lot. Sorry, babe."

Jazz kissed him again gently, rubbing his overheated chestplates in lazy circles. Prowl basked in the pleasant sensations, almost dropping back into recharge, but then the moment was spoilt by a sharp twinge that made him tense up again.

"Where the frag _is_ he?"

"He's waitin' for me t'say you're ready. He said up front that now wasn't a great time in the process for any shocks an' I think he really means it. For now, 'til it's over at least, I think we're gonna see the nicest side of that ol' grouch that he can show. Afterward, course, he'll pro'ly do his best t'make sure we forget we ever saw it."

"Just get him." Prowl told him tiredly. "I want this done."

"Okay, Sparkles. He's comin'. Won't be long now."

* * *

While waiting for Jazz to call him, Ratchet perused Circuitbreaker's scans. It had been centuries since he had last performed an extraction; Fuselink had taken over that side of their work early on in the war, leaving him free to focus his attention on training others in treating battlefield wounds. Had he known in advance what Jazz and Prowl were planning he might even have called his former apprentice in, just for the onsite support.

Of course, had he had any idea what they were planning he would never have let it go ahead without a proper rant at them first. Circuitbreaker had explained that Prowl had not known whether or not he was a carrier, but Ratchet was not falling for that flimsy excuse: Prowl was no fool, and had clearly suspected or else he would not have 'happened' to ask for the test while Ratchet was away. And even worse, he had had the gall to use his rank to stop a junior medic reporting important information to her superiors!

It did not matter at all that she would never have told him in the first place: the war had impacted on patient confidentiality, but whether or not a mech was a carrier was entirely personal. No-one had any right to know that other than the mech himself and the medic treating him, so even if Ratchet _had_ known he would not have had to tell Optimus. And if Circuitbreaker had gossiped to him about such a personal matter he would have had plenty to say to her about the breach of trust.

In any case, it was too late now to be fussing over the small details. The deed was done, Prowl was sparked, and the sparkling was ready for extraction. A simple procedure under most circumstances.

He flicked back to the beginning of the report, feeling a twinge of doubt. There was something not quite right about these scan results, but he could not pinpoint exactly what was bothering him. There were obvious areas of concern in Prowl's energy levels, but he was willing to accept Circuitbreaker's explanation for that; after all, he would have made the same diagnosis himself. So if that was not it, what was bothering him? He was just bringing up the standard deviations for each measurement when Jazz finally pinged him.

Dismissing the problem for later analysis, he headed into the treatment room and nodded to them both as he walked up to the the berth.

"Right, let's get on with this. Circuitbreaker has already talked you through the procedure?"

"Yes."

"Any questions?"

"No."

"Good. I'll just do a final scan and connect you to an external pump to help regulate your energy levels, then we'll be ready to go."

He set the scan to begin and gathered the other items he needed.

"What about somethin' for the pain?" Jazz asked after a moment, pulling his stool just a fraction closer.

Ratchet glanced at him, amused that the usually aloof Jazz would be so concerned about his stoic mate.

"There's no pain following an extraction."

"Not then. Now."

"It's fine." Prowl spoke over him, starting to sit up.

Ratchet firmly pushed him back down.

"You're in pain now? When did that start?"

"It's negligible." Prowl insisted.

"Jazz?" Ratchet asked, ignoring the protest.

"Off an' on since the spark caught, but it's been pretty much constant since I got back."

"Jazz, that's enough. Ratchet, it's entirely bearable and I understood it was another effect along with the weariness. It will be done with soon. Must it be such an issue at this late stage?"

It was most certainly not a common effect, nor even a rare one. Ratchet could not think of a single circumstance that would result in actual pain during carrying. An extraction done incorrectly could be painful or even kill the host, but problems in carrying only resulted in the newspark dispersing or fading. What would harm the host?

What the frag had they done?

He fought the urge to demand answers. The greatest immediate threat was stress. The more agitated Prowl became at this stage, the more difficult it would be to avoid complications. So he lied.

"No, that's fine. I probably would have seen it in Circuitbreaker's notes if I'd had a chance to read through them properly."

They both cast frankly disbelieving looks in his direction and he scowled.

"I _can_ do my job without yelling at my patients, you know. It just so happens I don't usually want to."

"Well, that's kinda creepy, Hatch, y'gotta admit."

Muttering a few curses under his breath and hearing Jazz laugh a little in response, Ratchet was pleased to have successfully diverted them for now.

Attaching the fluid line, he glanced over the results of the scan. There it was, what had caught his attention before without him realising it: the elevated activity that indicated physical stress. It was barely a blip compared to the levels of trauma he saw regularly after battles, but it should not be there now. It did not bode well; whatever was causing it, it was very unlikely to disappear entirely just because of the extraction. But there was no point in delaying.

His tools were laid out on a mobile trolley along with the base frame for the spark. Everything was ready.

"Open up." he ordered, rinsing his hands one last time to remove any traces of static.

Drying off he turned to adjust a lamp to give him a better view, then froze in place at what he was seeing.

"Doc? Ev'rythin' okay?"

Calm, he reminded himself. Don't yell at them. Not yet.

"Of course I am. Stop interrupting and let me work. Prowl, are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hold still."

The main tool for the procedure was a simple clamp enhanced by the addition of a sophisticated nonconductive mesh forming a spherical cage. The only other equipment required was a surgical-quality blade to avoid scorching. If the host was calm his spark would remain still and the extraction would be simple; if he were agitated the spark could flare, expanding and contracting unpredictably, making it difficult to gather the newspark without damaging the host and risking tearing the newspark in the attempt.

To that extent this was going well. Prowl's spark was steady and Ratchet was able to capture the newspark in the mesh on the first attempt, allowing him to examine the remaining connections back to the host spark. All but a few of the tendrils had self-detached, which was entirely normal at this stage. Given another orn the remaining few would naturally detach and then the newspark would start to fade as it lacked any source to sustain itself, hence the preference to perform the extraction prior to that stage.

Choosing to use the laser scalpel in his finger rather than the metal one Circuitbreaker had prepared, he carefully severed the first connection. On the newspark end it curled into itself and became part of the whole. Normal. On the host end, though, it wavered loosely which was far from normal.

"Three to go." he reported, noting how Prowl had stiffened at the contact. "Try to stay relaxed."

"I am trying."

"Well, do better then."

"Losin' your cool a bit there, doc."

"Shut up and help."

"How?"

"Never mind, just let me work." Ratchet snapped.

As much as he wanted to yell at both of them, he had to stay focused on his task. Ignoring them for now, he cut the remaining strands one at a time then carefully pulled on the clamp and the newspark came reluctantly free of the host's spark chamber. From there it was a simple task to install it in the waiting frame and close up the covering panels. Which only left him the host to deal with.

Without a word he opened a nearby cupboard and selected an appropriate drug for his purposes then added it to the energon supply being fed into Prowl's systems. Prowl had already closed his chestplates, once again concealing his secret, but too late: Ratchet knew exactly what he had seen.

"I'll send Circuitbreaker in to complete the activation. In the meantime you rest. Move so much as a step and I'll come back in here and weld you to that berth, see if I don't. Jazz, come with me. Now."


	77. Part 14: Truth will out, 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 9 of 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: extra long chapter ahead. And angst. Lots and lots of angst.

"Something's wrong." Prowl fretted as Ratchet stalked out, barking orders at Circuitbreaker.

"I'll find out what." Jazz promised, squeezing his partner's hand one last time before following. "Get some rest, babe, it'll be okay."

Circuitbreaker came in before he could get to the door, smiling at both of them and beginning to explain to Prowl that it would only take a breem to activate the sparkling but then he would need a groon of programming assimilation so Prowl might as well get some charge. Slipping around her Jazz closed the door on the private ward and crossed the main bay towards Ratchet's office, feeling pensive in spite of his reassurances. The extraction had gone just as described in advance, but Prowl was entirely right: Ratchet was hiding something. Had seen something. The medic's mood had changed dramatically from the moment he saw Prowl's spark.

For an instant Jazz weighed his options coldly from an ops perspective. If Ratchet had seen signs of the bond then he would have to be kept quiet. Killing him was not an ideal option, his death would raise too many questions and his expertise was too great an asset to lose. Blackmail? It would have to be strong to hold him silent, and that would take planning. Easiest to 'lose' him for awhile, gain time to find a longer-term solution...

He shelved those thoughts for now. One step at a time. First he had to know precisely what the medic knew and intended.

Stepping into the office he complied with the gruff instruction to shut the door. Then ducked as Ratchet turned and threw a wrench at him. He avoided the first one but it was followed rapidly by two more.

"Ow! Slag it, Ratch, what the frag...?"

"Shut up. Not one word or I'm going to reformat you as a doorstop so I can kick you every time I walk past! I should do it anyway. What in the pit did you think you were up to? Did you really think you could keep _this_ a secret? That I wouldn't _notice_?"

So. He knew. No point bluffing then.

"We knew the risks, but... _ow_!"

" 'We'?" Ratchet snarled. "There is no 'we' in this. This is about _you_ and your slagging sparklessness. What if you'd died, hey? All those missions you've gone on, all those raids and infiltrations, not to mention just being alone in the field for decades at a time. What if something'd happened to you? Hey? What then?"

"The cost seemed worth the price and once it was done there was no going back. We had no idea we'd both end up on the command team."

"I bet you didn't. But that's no excuse, you drone. Why did you do it? Not that there's _any_ excuse. I should get you locked up until you rust!"

"He wanted to know whether or not I was still alive." Jazz admitted. "It was the only way. And I thought at least it would mean I could save him bein' tortured if they ever caught him..."

"What are you talking about? This wouldn't have..." Ratchet snarled, then trailed off and stared at him.

Then staggered back to brace himself against his desk, his expression shocked.

"Primus. You're _bonded_ to him, too."

Jazz hesitated. _Too_?

"Ain't that what we're talkin' about? Ratch?"

The medic looked dazed, much as Prowl did just before one of his rare freezes.

"Out."

"What?"

"Get out. Before I really _do_ hurt you."

"Ratchet..."

"Out!" Ratchet roared.

"No." Jazz growled back, stepping forward purposefully. "I need to know what's wrong with Prowl. An' I ain't goin' _nowhere_ til I know for sure you ain't gonna go blabbin' about this to anyone."

"You're insane." Ratchet shook his head. "I always thought you were crazy, but now I know it for certain. Stop playing stupid, I know you're not. You know exactly what's wrong with Prowl - _you_ are - you just don't want to admit it."

"I don't have a clue!"

"Oh, so now you're denying you fragged him as a sparkling?"

The bitter question made no sense.

"What?"

"There's no point trying to lie about it, the evidence is right there to see."

"What evidence?"

"Relationships with sparklings are illegal!"

"How does a law translate to physical evidence? Anyway, it's meaningless. All sparklin's share around. Everyone does it."

"But not with the same partner!" Ratchet bellowed, then stopped short and peered at him. "You really don't know."

"Know what?"

Ratchet shoved him out of the way and began to pace agitatedly.

"How could you not know? It's supposed to be base programming... oh, but Curveball had your memories wiped, didn't he? Maybe that went too. But still Prowl should've known..."

"Known what?"

"About spark contamination." Ratchet finally deigned to explain, his expression grim. "About the _medical_ reasons why two hundred and fifty is the age of consent for long-term relationships. It takes that long for a spark to properly solidify. Before that happens all sorts of things can affect it, and one of the _worst_ is having a sparkmate."

Ratchet paced back to him, poking him in the chest with an indignant finger.

"You two carried on in a full-sparked relationship when he was too young for it. Mechs dallying with new partners don't usually share spark energy and if they do, well there'll be another lover soon enough to cancel it out. But sparkmates do it _regularly_ and _exclusively_. You created a recognition in his spark that _he's_ got to deal with for the rest of his life.

"Do you understand that? Do you? If you hadn't stayed, if you'd gotten bored with him, if you'd _died_ \- it wouldn't've mattered, it was already too late. He _can't_ commit to anyone else. Can't _ever_ enjoy sharing with anyone else. And Primus only knows how long you left him alone in that state. I'm surprised he wasn't clinging on to you like a symbiote! But I'd bet you anything _he_ was the one who suggested the bond. How else was he going to stay sane when you disappeared for vorns at a time?"

Jazz sank down into a chair, feeling as dazed as Ratchet had recently looked, memories surfacing in a rush.

Prowl's inexplicable devotion to him so soon after they first shared, his unwavering dedication in spite of the long gaps caused by Jazz's missions.

The shockingly sudden request to bond that had come far too quickly and the persistence in wanting that depth of commitment in spite of the illogical timing.

Prowl's claims that he was starting to glitch in worry over Jazz's absences, which Jazz had taken as him being overly dramatic but now seemed possibly to have been literal.

Had none of it really been Prowl's choice at all, but simply an inevitability caused by their illicit affair? Yes Prowl loved him now, he had no doubt of that fact, but had he really ever had a choice? He had been so appallingly young...

"Did you at least wait for his majority for _that_?" Ratchet carried on, apparently satisfied by his reaction. "No, of course not. Why be that sensible when you can go around doing _more_ damage?

"Bonding happens through an exchange of spark energy _without_ overload to disperse the contact. Literally some of his spark in yours, and yours in his. It's supposed to be shared at the surface level, and in an adult it would be, the core remaining untouched, but his core was still forming. So what you shared was surface material, but it got all the way into the core of his spark, _changing_ it. And what you got back was _from_ his core. You literally stole a piece of his life, and in exchange you gave him a bit of surplus energy. You destabilised him.

"It's a fragging miracle you didn't kill him creating this sparkling. He doesn't have spare energy to give away, especially after whatever caused those trace burns on his spark. Surely he wasn't stupid enough to try to create with someone else after you were bonded? Well whatever he did, he's slagging well learned his lesson. No wonder this was painful! He should have had that treated vorns ago, and I'll be telling him so when I'm sure he's not just going to fade away from the stress of all this..."

Ratchet's revelations and accusations hit like physical blows and Jazz struggled to cope as they rained down on him. Prowl's spark was unstable? He might have died when they had created the newspark? Could be dying now? Something had happened to his spark _after_ they had bonded?

"How much danger is he in right now?" he interrupted the tirade, unable to listen to any more of it.

Ratchet huffed, moving around his desk and dropping into his usual chair.

"Did Curveball know about the bond?"

"He had no idea. What are you gonna do?"

"I should tell Optimus."

"You should." Jazz nodded, raising his head.

Ratchet stared at him for a long moment.

"You're not going to threaten me? I've seen some of your mission reports - I know what you're capable of."

"Honest truth, Ratch, I just don't know. A breem ago I woulda argued that Prime needs us right where we are an' doin' what we're doin' an' you had no right t'interfere wit'that, just like I did when we were talkin' about him bein' a carrier. But if he's dyin' then maybe we _should_ disappear. Primus knows he deserves to know a bit o'peace before..."

Ratchet grunted sourly.

"He's not going to die. Primus only knows how I'm going to fix the mess you two have made of his spark but he's stable enough for now. You got luckier than anyone who's done so many stupid things deserves to be. As for telling Optimus..."

The medic trailed off, then continued unhappily.

"It won't do anyone any good, least of all Prime. But you listen carefully. You two _will_ do everything you can to keep each other safe. No more sneaking off undercover for you, and no more endless shifts for him. You've managed to survive this far? Great. Keep it up. You two are probably the only hope we've got left of not destroying ourselves completely. Now, go away so I can work. I need to run some more tests, see if I can figure out what to do about strengthening that fragged up spark of his, and I don't need you hanging around reminding me what a slagging mess you've caused. I'll call you when he's waking up - until then, get out of my sight."

* * *

Circuitbreaker looked across the main room to the closed door of the treatment room, then back down at the sparkling sitting on the berth in front of her. In spite of Prowl's insistence that he did not want to mentor the sparkling he intended to carry, she had thought that his attitude would soften once the activation occurred. It often did, but not this time.

Prowl remained steadfast. He had turned down the offer to have the sparkling join him on the berth, tiredly pointing out that other arrangements had been made. He had not wanted to hold him, waiting long enough for the little one to activate then telling her he was tired and asking that she take the sparkling away so he could rest.

Shortly afterwards, Jazz had emerged from Ratchet's office, barely acknowledging her as he swept straight out of the repair bay and off to who-knew-where. Why had he not noticed the sparkling? Why did he not check on his mate, or at least enquire after him? What the frag was going on?

She glared at the scan reports on the screen. Something had been wrong and she had missed it, but what? The sparkling was entirely healthy and was assimilating his base programming at a steady rate. Given a vorn he would outstrip the other sparklings activated here and be ready for his first upgrades. There was nothing wrong with him.

It was Prowl, she frowned, watching a glowering Ratchet stomp back into the treatment room, sealing the door behind himself without so much as a glance in her direction.

She had never had that much to do with the CMO, having been trained by others. She had heard stories of his famous temper and tendency to snarl at patients and staff alike, but according to Fuselink it was worst in two situations: when he deemed the injuries to be the result of stupidity, and when a patient was recovering after something that Ratchet had not been sure he could fix.

Which was this? she wondered. Not the latter, surely. This was a straightforward extraction. She had performed dozens of them over the vorns, and while they weren't as common as splits even before the tragedy at Luciana she had done enough to be baffled as to how the procedure could cause any harm to the carrier.

Certainly, if it were not done correctly, it could be dangerous. Use the wrong tools and the host's spark could be scorched or overly stressed, but Ratchet had to know what he was doing because he had trained every other Autobot medic.

So what, then? Ratchet had agreed with her pre-extraction diagnosis. It had to have been something that happened during the extraction, but what?

Ratchet re-emerged, heading over to one of the analysis stations, and she moved over to him.

"Can I help?"

"Primus only knows." he grunted, then looked at her sharply. "When he came for a carrier test, did you do a spark examination as well as the scans?"

She stared at him in shock.

"Of course not."

"Mm. Thought not. Then you can stop feeling guilty - this wasn't your fault."

"Who said I was feeling guilty?" she protested.

He did not answer, turning back to the screens, and she tried to figure out what he was looking at. It was exactly the same scan she had been doing several times an orn since Prowl had sparked, but he was looking at it as though it was suddenly revealing some great secret.

"Sir, please, I need to know what went wrong so that it doesn't happen again."

"It had slagging well better not." Ratchet muttered, then gestured blindly to one of the research terminals. "Go look up spark contamination. That's what's going on here, and Primus only knows how we're going to fix it. And Circuitbreaker? Not a word of this to anyone. I'll deal with Prowl and Jazz, you just keep everyone away from them."

* * *

Jazz was unusually quiet as they walked slowly back to their quarters, solicitously supporting him along but neither speaking nor looking at him. There was a major storm brewing there and Prowl was not at all sure he was ready to weather it.

A full groon's charge had helped to restore some of his energy, but then Ratchet had begun railing at him about the stupidity of having gotten involved with Jazz as a sparkling and the insanity of being on the command team while bonded. Jazz had stood in the background, helm down, apparently having been given the same lecture while Prowl was offline, but his head raised fractionally when Ratchet commented about the foolishness of allowing another lover access to his spark when he was already bonded. The medic's words revealed that he thought it must have happened in the centuries of war when Jazz had been an Autobot but Prowl hadn't, assuming that they had been bonded long before he had come aboard the _Ark_ and probably long before the war had begun.

An obvious assumption that he had been an adult on Cybertron before the war started, but Jazz knew as well as Prowl did that it was not true, thus it would be obvious to Jazz that any other such 'lover' must have been more recent than that. Hearing Nolan being described as his lover made Prowl feel queasy but he held his peace, unwilling to correct the furious medic in the middle of his rant.

Jazz was the one who needed to know the truth, and who deserved to hear it first; speaking of this in front of Ratchet would only make the whole conversation more complicated.

Arriving at their quarters Jazz made to guide him through to the berth, murmuring something about him needing more rest, but Prowl pulled away and leaned against the wall. Bad enough that he had concealed this for so long, now he just wanted it over with.

"I meant to tell you earlier." he began awkwardly. "It just never seemed the right time..."

Jazz had stiffened, half-turned away from him.

"You couldn'ta known it'd hurt you. Ain't my place t'be angry if y'found someone t'cherish ya while I was gone for so long."

"It wasn't like that. I didn't choose it. I've never wanted anyone but you."

Jazz flinched a little at that and Prowl grimaced, remembering Ratchet's less than romantic explanation for that unswerving devotion too late to stop himself. He sought better words to use, but Jazz spoke first.

"Whaddaya mean you 'didn't choose it'?"

"I was given no choice."

Jazz spun to stare at him.

"What!"

Prowl looked away, ashamed.

"It was while you were undercover at Darkmount, investigating the splitters and the Seekers. It was... It doesn't matter. The twins got me safely away but we were isolated and without medical support..."

"Sunny and Sides? Wait, this was when you went missing in the Plutes sector? But I've seen the reports, there was nothing in there about this."

"I never reported it."

Jazz continued to stare and Prowl continued wretchedly.

"I should have told you. But I couldn't find the right time. By the time you came back it was so long after and I was so pleased to have you back..."

"I came in and assaulted you." Jazz remembered, sounding sickened. "And Sides was there. I'm surprised he didn't just shoot me for jumping you like that!"

"It was a _long_ time after." Prowl repeated. "And I wanted that reunion as much as you did. But after that it never seemed the right time to bring it up. I don't think about it that much: the truth is I don't really remember it. I remember him coming in and ordering me to drink something... and then waking up on that rock of a planetoid where we crashed. The rest is just fragments."

"Ordering you." Jazz echoed, picking up on the unintentional clue. "It was Nolan himself?"

"He's dead. I put it down as a learning experience and left it at that. I didn't think there would be long-term effects. It stopped hurting vorns ago."

He hissed involuntarily as his doorwing jarred against the wall, making him aware he was swaying again. Then Jazz was there supporting him, guiding him over to the couch and easing him down.

"You should be chargin'."

"Soon. I want to get through this first." Prowl countered, biting his lip. "It just seemed so futile to bring it all up again. I was fine, and there's been so much going on, and I feared you'd blame yourself for not being there to protect me. It was my fault, Jazz..."

"Now hang on a click..."

"No. It was. He found out my age and I allowed him to manipulate me, to blackmail me, because I was so confident I could make it worthwhile in the end. I just had to see my plans through, then everything would be fine. But it wasn't."

Jazz muttered something to himself that Prowl could not make out, then paced away to collect a cube of the infused energon Circuitbreaker had given them.

"I noticed you were more mature when I got back." he admitted, wrapping Prowl's hands around the cube. "Less innocent, maybe. You didn't ask the same sorta questions anymore, you seemed so self-assured. An' I noticed how you got on with the twins. I was kinda jealous of them. Even now I sometimes think Sides knows you better'n I do."

"They supported me through the whole thing. I would not have survived if not for them. But I love _you_ , Jazz, and... Primus, I don't know, perhaps it started as Ratchet insists, but that's not true now. It's _not_. And it wasn't true when we bonded, either, you know that. Whatever else it may be, my love for you is _real_."

They sat in silence for a moment and he sipped at the energon. It still tasted awful and he was not feeling at all hungry but having a task to focus on helped keep him from simply shutting down. Primus, he was tired.

"You shoulda told someone." Jazz said finally. "Surely they did med-checks when you got back?"

"The pain went away eventually." Prowl explained wanly, his hand rising to rub at his chestplates. "By the time we were rescued from there it was just an occasional twinge, and then that went away too. I thought it had healed. If I had been concerned I would have gone to Ratchet in spite of the risk of revelation, but it all just went away."

"I've seen you do this." Jazz mused, covering Prowl's hand with one of his own. "Not a lot, but I've seen it. I should've asked."

Prowl moved to pull his hand away but Jazz held it in place.

"You musta known it was a risk, that it might show up. That's why you went to Circuitbreaker: not just because of the bond, but because of this. Did you even ever tell her you were in pain?"

Prowl looked down at the now-empty cube.

"No." he admitted softly. "I recognised the feel of it, and said nothing. I lied to you."

Jazz noisily drew a draught of air through his vents and expelled it again slowly.

"I'm goin' out." he announced, rising. "Clear my processor. Then we'll talk about this."

"There isn't much more to say."

"We'll talk." Jazz repeated. "Now lets get you chargin' - last thing I need is t'have the Hatchet chasin' after me 'cause y'didn't rest like you're s'posed to."

Prowl allowed Jazz to help him up and through to the berth, only speaking when Jazz moved towards the door.

"I don't care what Ratchet believes. I loved you first."

Jazz paused, then continued walking.

"Rest. I'll be back."

* * *

Jazz was sitting at his desk when they entered, his attention fully on them from the moment they walked in.

"Are Prowl and the sparkling okay?" Sideswipe asked.

"Sit." Jazz ordered, no hint of a smile on his face.

~I think he's mad.~ Sunstreaker murmured as they reluctantly seated themselves.

~But we haven't done anything.~

~Tell _him_ that.~

"Tell me about Nolan." Jazz intoned.

"Who?" Sideswipe blurted desperately.

"Not the time for games, Sides." the warning came darkly.

"You should ask Prowl." Sunstreaker suggested.

"I did. Now I'm askin' you two."

"He didn't want us telling anyone. Including you." Sideswipe tried one last time.

Jazz simply looked at him, and Sideswipe looked away hurriedly.

"Right. Well I guess that stopped applying when you found out."

"If he's already told you, what do you need from us?" Sunstreaker asked.

Jazz's focus moved to his brother.

"For a start I'd like to know how it happened when he had _two_ bodyguards supposedly watching out for him. You can't tell me this came out of the blue. Where were you?"

"We did everything we could. He wouldn't let us fix it."

"Fix what?"

Sunstreaker folded his arms, going silent, leaving Sideswipe to answer.

"We went out there to look at sites for Luciana. But it was a mess from the start. They were supposed to've increased their defences and surveyed some sites before we turned up, but nothing was done and no-one seemed to want to do anything. Prowl had to push for everything, even before things went bad. They didn't want us there. But when Nolan started blackmailing him..."

"With what?"

"He wouldn't say." Sunstreaker spoke up. "He just kept saying Prime couldn't be allowed to know, and that it was worth it."

"He said _you'd_ understand." Sideswipe added. "Jazz, honest, we really tried to get him to do something about it but he wouldn't listen. He kept saying he had to do it."

"And then it all turned out to be a waste of time anyway." Sunstreaker spat, annoyed.

"In what way?"

"Well he never even intended Luciana to be there." Sideswipe exclaimed. "He'd planned it that way from the start - we were just a decoy for the Cons."

Jazz watched them silently for a moment, then leaned forward menacingly.

"An' just how long did you stand by and let Nolan frag him before you did anythin' about it?"

"It wasn't like that!" Sideswipe argued.

"The pit-spawn only did it once." Sunstreaker spoke at the same time. "And I should've killed him on the spot for it, too!"

Jazz's head tilted ever so slightly to one side.

"So he was not blackmailing Prowl into his berth?"

Sideswipe looked at his twin in confusion.

"What the frag did Prowl tell you?"

"He told _us_ Nolan never touched him in those meetings." Sunstreaker fumed. "He was lying?"

"No." Sideswipe shook his head. "No I don't believe it. It was only the once. Nolan made it look like it was happening, but it wasn't. Not til that last time. And when _that_ happened, we got him outta there. Frag the mission, he was more important."

"So what did Nolan get from blackmailing him, if not that?" Jazz persisted.

"Obedience." Sunstreaker grunted. "He got Prowl to sign off on a whole lotta slag an' claim it was his own work."

"He made him look incompetent." Sideswipe agreed. "And that made everything worse - no-one was doing what they were supposed to, and he couldn't do anything about it because Nolan wouldn't let him. Jazz - did he really say Nolan did more than that?"

Jazz drew a slow draught of air through his intakes, leaning back in his chair.

"He says he doesn't remember much. But if Nolan wasn't doin' it to get him on his back, why suddenly rape him? Why change a winnin' formula?"

"Don't ask us, we don't know."

"The mech was the worst kind of tank gunge." Sunstreaker growled. "He was building his own little empire out there and wanted the attention to go away. Whatever he had on Prowl wasn't strong enough to make us go away. Maybe he was after something more."

"Could've been." Sideswipe considered. "If he'd been able to prove Prowl was a carrier he could've made Prime send him to Luciana. Whatever he was blackmailing Prowl with, it was time-sensitive. He said something about needing another couple of vorns before Prime found out... Jazz?"

The glowering CSO had folded his arms and was looking pensive.

"You've figured out what it was?" Sunstreaker guessed.

Jazz pursed his lips.

"I know what was goin' on. But how did Nolan find out? Prowl would never have told him."

"What is it?" Sideswipe demanded. "Come on, you've gotta tell us, we've been trying to figure this out _forever_!"

"If he hasn't told you yet, I doubt he'd want you to know now." Jazz shook his head. "Way I see it, Prowl was probably focused on ensurin' that Decepticon attention remained on him and not on the real site for Luciana. Drawin' any other kind of attention, like callin' for help, mighta drawn the Cons in too early an' ruined the decoy. What _I_ wanna know is why you two didn't tell Ratchet when you got back here?"

"Prowl made us promise not to." Sunstreaker told him.

"I tried to." Sideswipe offered. "Worried the doc enough to give him a proper going over, but he didn't find anything so I thought he was okay. Until the last couple of orns, anyway. But he wouldn't let us say anything to anyone. He said it was under control. Jazz, is he okay? He didn't lose the sparkling, did he?"

"The sparkling's fine." Jazz allowed. "An' Prowler will be too, now Ratchet knows what needs fixin'. But it was a close thing an' it didn't have t'be if Ratch'd known beforehand what was goin' on. So. In detail. _What happened_?"


	78. Part 14: Truth will out, 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14, chapter 10 of 10

Circuitbreaker waited for the door to open, expecting Jazz and steeling herself to deal with him.

Everything she had thought she knew about that mech had just been completely turned on its head: this was a mech who had molested and abused a sparkling and then covered it up. He at least had the decency to stay with Prowl afterwards, but now she wondered whether it was duty more than love. They always _had_ seemed a weird couple. Perhaps there was no genuine affection between them after all?

The door finally opened, but instead of Jazz she found Prowl standing on the other side.

"Come in." he said simply, turning away.

She did so, putting down the box she was carrying and closing the door behind herself.

"I didn't mean to get you up - I thought Jazz would answer."

"He's out."

"I thought Ratchet instructed him to watch over you?"

He settled himself on the couch, then looked at her placidly.

"There is work to be done, and for now all I can do now is rest. I have no need of a minder."

She shook her head in frustration.

"I wish there was some way to keep you away from him."

"Difficult for him to watch over me if you want him to stay away." Prowl pointed out placidly.

"He should be locked up for what he did. I don't understand how you can stand to be near him!"

"Jazz cares for me. What happened, happened."

"It happened because he was sick enough to force himself on you before you were old enough. How can you both pretend this is normal? Can he be _trusted_ here with all these sparklings around?"

"Jazz is no danger to the sparklings."

"Except for you."

"That was a long time ago and he meant me no harm. Now can we please change the subject?"

"Did he reprogram you to think that way? What he did was _wrong_! Is he still controlling this relationship?"

He shook his head.

"Our relationship is no business of yours."

"That's where you're wrong. I needed to know that your spark was damaged. If Ratchet hadn't come back you could have faded away and I wouldn't even have known why!"

The accusation earned her a small flinch, and she thought absently that she knew why Ratchet yelled at his patients. He obviously had to, to get any kind of sense from some of them.

"I apologise for placing you in that awkward position. But it has all ended satisfactorily."

She shook her head in disbelief at how easily he could dismiss a mortal threat.

"Are you really a drone after all?" she demanded. "I've heard mecha say it, but I thought they were wrong. But only a drone could act like this."

It was an appalling insult and she was a little disgusted to hear herself use it, but he did not react to it.

"Was there something you needed from me? If not, I would appreciate it if I were left to rest again."

She glared.

"I'm here to do a scan." she told him bluntly. "And to give you this."

She gestured to the box she had left by the door.

"What is it?"

"A formula Ratchet has devised to help strengthen your spark. You're going to need to take it regularly for a full vorn if you ever want the chance to carry again."

His head tilted slightly in curiosity.

"Ratchet indicated that that was not an option."

"Not if you don't do something about the damage." she countered, retrieving a cube and handing it to him.

He broached the cube and took a sip, grimacing at the taste. She watched, well aware that the taste was only the beginning. There were side-effects with this mixture, and if she hadn't been so annoyed at him she might have empathised with what was to come.

He shifted slightly, his doorwings twitching.

"Are you able to do the scan here, or do I need to come to the clinic?"

She was tempted to insist on the latter. The less she had to do with Jazz, the happier she would be. Still, he was not here now and this would only take a moment.

"Just finish drinking that and lets get this over with so you can get some more charge. I'll leave another one out - you'll need to drink two every orn. Which you _will_ do, you hear me?"

"I understand."

* * *

Ratchet heard a commotion out in the main room and headed out to see Circuitbreaker stalking away from Jazz, looking upset. The ops mech met his gaze without any expression at all, and Ratchet gestured him into his office.

"How much'd you tell her?" Jazz asked quietly as the door closed.

"Just about the contamination." Ratchet responded unrepentantly. "Prowl was her patient: she's establishing the treatment regime. And she'll watch extra closely with these sparklings to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Jazz's head dipped slightly in a nod but said nothing further, so Ratchet prompted him.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to watch over Prowl? Is he taking his formula? He'd better be, or I'll funnel it into him through the backup fuel port!"

"Prowl's chargin'. An' I wanted t'check some details. Ratch, I'm gonna be headin' off in an orn or two; that's the way the plan goes. Is he gonna be okay?"

He was tempted to say that Prowl would never be 'okay' again, given what had happened to him. That Prowl's case should have been referred to a psychologist and a programming specialist for counselling and that he should have been separated entirely from Jazz for a vorn or two until they sorted everything out.

But there was a war on, and they had responsibilities that could not be ignored. And in spite of the horrific way that their relationship had apparently begun, at least they were in it together: the bond ensured that.

"It would do him some good to spend some time with the sparkling before he goes. Better if you're there with him, too."

Jazz frowned.

"The whole idea was that we weren't gonna imprint with him. He's gonna be raised by someone else."

"I could make it an order."

"I think Circuit'd throw a fit if I went anywhere near a sparklin' right now, but I'll tell Prowl..."

"Don't worry about Circuitbreaker, just be here. Both of you."

"Why?"

Ratchet scowled.

"Because I'm ordering it. And because I'm just about ready to accept that maybe you aren't completely to blame for all of this but it's still your fault and you _are_ going to do whatever it takes to help me fix it."

* * *

Walking in, Jazz immediately saw the cube of cloudy-brown liquid sitting on the table. Mindful of what Ratchet had said he picked it up, carrying it through to the berthroom where Prowl was reading.

"You gonna drink this?"

"I'm strongly considering not doing so." Prowl responded without looking up.

"It's for your own good."

Prowl sighed, letting the datapad drop to his lap.

"It makes me ache. I can't concentrate on anything."

"You tell the Ratchet that?"

"I didn't relish the idea of how he might respond. It's possible he would find it amusing and double the dosage. Jazz, about Nolan..."

Settling on the side of the berth Jazz put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

"It's okay. I had a chat with Sides an' Sunny. I know all I need to."

Prowl grimaced.

"That must have been an awkward conversation."

"Oh, they weren't all that pleased to be cornered into talkin' about it. They really are protective of you." He paused, peering at Prowl's face to verify the truth. "You really don't remember it?"

"Almost nothing. Confusion, panic. Pain, yes, but mostly just a sense of desperation to stop it and the inability to do anything about it."

"Huh. Well, it was a long time ago, an' like you said it's not an easy thing t'find the right time t'bring up."

"You'll let it go that easily?" Prowl asked suspiciously.

Jazz sighed, brushing the back of his fingers against Prowl's cheek.

"Makes me feel sick, thinkin' bout it. But Primus knows I've been through plenty o'slag like that m'self in my life; doesn't always work out like you plan, no matter how much plannin' you do. You should've stood up to him, but that's easy to say now. Maybe if you'd called his bluff everythin' woulda worked out fine. An' maybe you woulda been sent to Luciana yourself t'keep ya safe. An' maybe you woulda died there, or been taken by Megatron, or maybe any one of a hundred other things coulda happened." He paused, dropping his hand to Prowl's chest. "It doesn't hurt ya when we're t'gether?"

Prowl shook his head.

"At first I feared it might, but it never has. Jazz, if it was all that obvious, why didn't Circuitbreaker pick up on any of it?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Ratch didn't say directly, but I figure she probably just didn't know what she was lookin' at. She was trained durin' the war, by Ratchet's old apprentice who only started his _own_ trainin' in wartime. Given the situation, I guess the indicators of this was low on the trainin' priority list. Far as I can make out, if we'd waited til you were old enough before we started you'd never've had any trouble wit' sharin' wit' others any more'n I do, even wit' the bond. Can't see this problem comin' up often, given that you shouldn't've even been in your adult frame when we first got together. Usually someone woulda put a stop to it before it got to that. I wish I had."

Prowl nodded thoughtfully.

"I'm glad you didn't." he said after a moment.

The statement caught Jazz by surprise.

"Why not?"

"I already knew I loved you before we ever shared a berth, let alone made spark contact." Prowl pointed out. "And if we had waited for my majority Nolan would have gotten to me before we were together. One of the only things that made any of that mission bearable was the thought of you. You've never hurt me intentionally."

"Never will." Jazz swore, then his gaze fell on the cube that Prowl was still holding. "But I ain't gonna defend ya against the Hatchet if you don't follow his orders. You need t'drink that."

"I would rather not."

"Ain't your place t'choose on this one."

"Circuitbreaker said the treatment was to ensure I could carry again. If I do not intend to do so, then there is no requirement to keep to this regime."

"Sparkles, you're bein' juvenile. Jus' take your medicine an' be done wit' it."

Pouting, Prowl reluctantly drank down the contents and handed back the empty cube without a word.

"There. That wasn't so bad was it?"

Prowl did not look convinced, subspacing his datapad and moving to lie down.

"You gonna keep takin' it when I'm not hoverin' over ya?" Jazz asked, curling up next to him.

Prowl shifted irritably away from him so they were not touching.

"I suppose you would prefer that I did."

"Yup."

"Then perhaps you would care to take on some of my workload, since this... vile concoction distracts me from it."

"It can't be that bad." Jazz smiled, sliding one hand slowly over Prowl's hip.

"You're not the one drinking it. And you can stop that, too."

"Just tryin' t'help, babe."

"Well don't."

"Wow, you're really grumpy tonight, aren't you?"

"I told you, I'm achey." Prowl grumbled. "I don't know how I'm going to get through a whole vorn of this."

Jazz relented, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"Was it worth it, ya think?" he asked after a while. "All this for a sparklin' we're barely even gonna see?"

There was no response at all from his partner, not so much as a flicker through the bond, and he sat up a little to look. Prowl was already in recharge.

Shifting to cuddle him close Jazz pressed a kiss to the top of his helm, processors whirling with the events of the orn. Knowing now what Prowl had known, the choices he had made were not logical. Why risk not only the bond being discovered, but also the return of the pain and ennervation of his experience after Nolan's attack? Why do it now, when the sparkling would have to be left behind?

Why do it at all?

"How much've I changed ya from how y'were supposed t'be?"

It was a question they had teased each other with for the length of their relationship, but this time the thought left him deeply unsettled and it was a long while before he dropped into recharge himself.

* * *

Optimus followed the medic into the ward but paused near the door to look around the room which was filled with chattering sparkers and friends and medics and sparklings. All of the sparklings were of the same basic frame design, nothing but a simple identification symbol on their helms to tell them apart. Their upgrades would make them visually distinctive as they grew up, but for now they were all but interchangeable. A safe way to be.

His wandering gaze stopped on a pair of familiar figures in a far corner of the room, sitting just a little away from the main crowd. Prowl was sitting in a chair, a smaller form curled in his arms; Jazz was leaning forward to tuck in a loose corner of the mesh blanket keeping the little one warm.

Moving carefully through towards them he saw Jazz notice him and wave which then caught Prowl's attention.

"You're back early." Jazz greeted him, dragging a bench close for him to sit on. "Thought you were meant to be gone for another orn, yet?"

"There wasn't much point in waiting once Elita had gone."

"She's taken her group on to Iacon?" Prowl checked.

He looked more tired than Optimus had ever seen him; doorwings drooping, posture slumped. It would have alarmed him if not for his own recent experience. As preparation for the procedure, Ratchet had insisted he do nothing but rest for two full orns in advance and he had still felt drained afterwards. Prowl, no doubt, had stubbornly continued to work until forced to stop.

"Yes. They all arrived safely."

"Good t'hear, boss." Jazz smiled at him.

"Yes, but it will become increasingly difficult to smuggle ourselves back to Cybertron without drawing attention." Prowl frowned, doorwings twitching anxiously.

Jazz rubbed at his back soothingly.

"You ain't back on duty yet, babe. Let it be."

"Is something wrong?" Optimus asked curiously. "I thought your splitting was several orns ago - I had expected you to be back on duty by now."

"There were some complications." Jazz spoke softly before Prowl could answer. "He's okay, but he's on Ratchet's orders to take it easy for a bit."

"I'm fine." Prowl assured him, glaring at his partner before nodding reassuringly to Optimus. "Truly. I need rest, but I can resume my duties on half-shifts from tomorrow. It won't affect our plans - everything can run to schedule."

"Half-shifts only?"

"It seems so. For the first few orns, at least."

"We could rearrange the schedule." Jazz suggested, as though this were something he had raised before. "You could go on ahead an' I could coordinate from here, 'stead of the other way round."

"No." Prowl said firmly. "We each have our tasks, and they will get done. I am already improving. Ratchet himself said I would return to full shifts by the end of the decaorn."

Optimus was not satisfied with that, but held back his questions for now.

"Have you named him?" he asked, gesturing to the charging sparkling.

Prowl shook his head.

"Praxian tradition not to do it 'til they get their upgrades." Jazz shrugged.

"But neither of you will be here at that point."

"He will be named by those who care for him." Prowl nodded. "That is how it should be."

"Come on, boss, let's go catch you up." Jazz declared, rising. "We gotta start actin' again soon - the last split's happenin' later today, so we're on the countdown to when things start gettin' messy."

Optimus allowed Jazz to lead him away, and before he could ask his TIC was speaking quietly.

"He'll be okay, boss, he just needs a bit more time. Ratchet's takin' care of it. Ev'rythin's under control."

* * *

"Ratchet, what is wrong with my Second in Command?"

The medic looked up to see Optimus's set expression and considered his options. He could tell the truth. Primus knew the pair of them had done more than enough lying to everyone about the truth of their situation. But knowing this truth would deprive them of two senior officers at a critical time. It would keep for now.

"That's confidential."

Optimus looked startled, then frowned.

"It's affecting his ability to work, and as his superior officer I demand to know what it is."

"And I'm telling you it's none of your business." Ratchet stood his ground. "This is a medical issue, it's under control, and he'll be back at full duty before we leave here. That's enough."

"I disagree."

"Disagree all you like, that's my _professional_ opinion and I'm sticking to it."

A groon later, Jazz popped his head into the office.

"Gotta click, doc?"

"What now?"

"Just reportin' in before I go, like you wanted."

"And?"

Jazz nodded solemnly.

"Holdin' the sparklin' did some good. Made him feel a bit better. Any chance you'll tell me why?"

"It's because it's a missing part of his spark. Same as when he's with you, I imagine. Get the three of you together and he's nearly whole again."

Jazz grimaced.

"So you think we should take the sparklin' with us, then. That's gonna be tricky, doc, for all kinds o'reasons."

"I know, and it's not worth it. This effect is limited; after a few orns it won't work anymore. What I'd prefer is for _you_ to stay with him, rather than running off ahead."

"If I could, I would, believe me." Jazz sighed. "But he's right about it lookin' suspicious if all the command team suddenly up an' disappear at the same time. Ain't like it's the first time I've disappeared wit'out notice, so no-one'll care. An almost ev'ryone who's goin' to Iacon's already there or on their way now, an' one of us needs t'be there t'keep things under control. It's gotta be me."

"I'm no strategic thinker, Jazz. I'm telling you what would be best for Prowl's health, that's all. Something I thought you cared about."

"Tell me straight, then: if I go now, will it actually damage him? I know it won't help him, but will it _hurt_ him?"

"No." Ratchet admitted grudgingly.

"Then I gotta go. It's the way it's gotta be."

* * *

Prowl silently endured the sidelong looks and abortive attempts to provide support for the five long orns between Jazz's departure and Omega Supreme's arrival. He did not respond to Optimus's heavy hints that someone else could be found to do the final planning if he were tired; he did not complain at Ratchet's close scrutiny and constant monitoring; he even tolerated Circuitbreaker's persistent attempts to get him to admit that Jazz had taken advantage of him in his youth.

His lethargy had mostly passed and he was all but certain that if he were not taking the prescribed medication he might be back to feeling normal.

Mostly certain, but not entirely. Jazz had certainly been shaken by Ratchet's dire warnings of the risks, and he had to admit that it bothered him too. He had been tired, but had he truly been so close to death? He had felt no danger, just weariness and annoyance at a growing ache that would not subside.

It was unacceptable. He had a duty to protect himself to ensure that he could continue to support the Autobot cause. Endangering himself so recklessly, for no rational military reason, was inexcuseable.

So he allowed the others to respond to him each in their own way, took the medicine he detested, and tried to focus professionally on the job in hand.

The plan was not particularly complex but it relied upon delicate timing. It was important that the Decepticon attention was fixed on the false base and believed what they heard and saw about a reactor exploding.

To add realistic urgency and panic to the 'emergency', a small drone had been sent out into the next solar system with a series of recorded messages which would be triggered by certain code phrases. As Jazz's agents enacted the destruction of the base and fled towards the space bridge, they would cry for help with poorly encoded transmissions. After all, Syrenex was supposed to be a place of sparklings and caretakers, not soldiers and intelligence officers.

The drone's responding transmissions and its scheduled navigation plan would make it appear to be the _Beacon_ , and moving towards Syrenex to help rescue the refugees. The flagship would not be in time, however, and the refugee ship would reach the space bridge first.

Prowl paused beside a planning terminal, watching pensively as the current data on Decepticon positions was fed into the scenario. Everything should be fine, but there was one variable he could not predict: what lay on the other side of the space bridge.

It was possible that it led directly to a Decepticon base. It was possible that even if the ops mechs made it through to the other side, they might find themselves surrounded. Megatron had no history of setting up distant bases which had no immediate military value, but just because Prowl could not see the value did not mean there might not be one.

The result came back somewhat reassuringly that all but three of the known Decepticon ships were accounted for. Even better, most were nowhere near Cybertron. A proportion had gathered two systems away, perhaps preparing for an attack on Syrenex; the rest were tied up in an ongoing battle with a former Neutral group who had turned radical. The Neutrals would lose, Prowl predicted, but the additional distraction was serving his purposes well.

"Are you ready to leave, Prowl?" Optimus asked from the doorway.

He keyed in a sequence to initiate a virus which would entirely destroy the terminal, then nodded.

"Yes. It is time to go."

* * *

_Epilogue_

Optimus turned off the terminal he had been watching. The destruction of false-Syrenex had cost a lot of precious resources, but both Prowl and Jazz had been adamant that traces had to be left there to allay the suspicions of any curious Decepticon visitor. The enemy must believe that Syrenex had suffered a reactor meltdown, that the inhabitants had destroyed their own base rather than let the Decepticons have it, and fled towards a space bridge in their search for sanctuary.

Sadly, that plan had failed. As much care had been taken, the bridge had destabilised a fraction of a breem too early. The ship truly had been destroyed, the small crew of special ops agents aboard all lost. Jazz warned that it might happen that way, and had insisted that his agents knew what they were getting into, but Optimus hoped they would be safe. This war had cost too many lives already. All going well, they would soon have a reprieve from its devastation, and so close to that relief even a single additional death seemed too high a cost to bear.

Moving heavily away from the control panel, Optimus wandered into the hold where Prowl was working quietly on a datapad. The tactician had elected not to follow the events that were out of his control, focusing instead on the upcoming evacuation of Iacon.

"The ship was lost." he offered, sitting down on the bench next to Prowl.

"Unfortunate, but anticipated." the response came absently.

There were times when Prowl's detachment certainly seemed cold, but Optimus knew him too well to be fooled into thinking Prowl did not care.

"Are they safe?" he asked after a while.

"As safe as we can make them."

"Do you wish you had stayed?"

Prowl looked up in surprise.

"Of course not. My place is here."

"I'm glad to hear it, my friend, but it must be difficult knowing what you've left behind. Perhaps we should have brought him with us."

"No. This was the plan and it is the best option. Our own safety is not assured."

That was true. Even just getting to Iacon was dangerous. It was a major miracle that the troops had made it to Cybertron undiscovered thus far. A miracle, and Prowl's usual unconventional planning: the Decepticons were unlikely to believe that the Autobots might try something so audacious.

He checked his chronometer. Only two more groons and he would be reunited with Elita, within reach of the sparkling he had had to temporarily send away. The pleased thrill of that thought made him feel guilty: Prowl had left his own sparkling behind on Syrenex, after all.

"It will be difficult not to acknowledge my sparkling with him aboard the same ship." he admitted apologetically.

"The _Ark_ is a much larger ship than any other in the fleet." Prowl pointed out pragmatically. "And most of the passengers will be in stasis until we reach a suitable location, so they will not be around to interfere if you choose to acknowledge the relationship during the trip. He cannot be put into stasis, after all, though you can if you feel it would be easier."

Optimus shook his head, dismissing that last idea and trying not to show his joy at the thought that he would soon be able to hold his sparkling again. It would not be fair to Prowl.

"If we had waited until we reached that haven before we created any sparklings at all, then everyone could enjoy the same privilege."

"The Syrenex plan is a diversion which makes the _Ark_ plan feasible, just as the reverse is true. Remove one and the other is in jeopardy; it is the balance between the two that reduced the overall level of risk to something reasonable."

"I see. Well, at least once we have found our refuge the offer can be repeated. I assume you will want to raise your next rather than leave it to a caretaker. I would approve of you taking time for that. You and Jazz have been very... Prowl? Is something wrong?"

The Praxian had stiffened, momentarily looking disturbed, but then straightened and made a visible effort to conceal his reaction.

"Ratchet has informed me that it would be unwise to be involved in the development of any further sparklings. It seems unlikely that that will change in the foreseeable future."

"So the sparkling we left behind may be the only one you can ever create?" Optimus asked, shocked.

"It seems so."

"Then we must go back and collect him! Omega Supreme, change course and head for Syrenex!"

"Yes, Prime."

"No." Prowl snapped. "Omega Supreme, please maintain course."

"Prime?" the huge shuttle checked.

"I should have been told. There is a huge risk of Syrenex being attacked while we're away, and if this is your only sparkling..."

"The risk remains the same so long as we do nothing to interfere." Prowl countered firmly. "Going back there now would likely result in the death of everyone there, plus possibly ourselves. The Decepticons _must_ believe there is nothing of value left in that sector. On top of which, if we do not take this opportunity to get to Iacon we may not make it there ourselves. We _must_ continue as planned."

"Orders, Prime?" Omega asked in the tense silence that ensued.

"Maintain current course to Cybertron." Optimus ground out grudgingly. "I am not happy about this, Prowl. I should have been told. We could have taken him with us when we left in the _Beacon_ , he could have been kept safe."

"I have done everything in my power to keep everyone safe, all of the sparklings, and all of us. A change to any of the variables only decreases the likelihood of survival."

"But even if he survives he'll be an adult before you see him next. And if this is your only chance then you should have been able to raise him yourself."

"Jazz is not restricted in the same way." Prowl pointed out. "Any sparkling between us would be cared for equally by both of us. If the risks had been known in advance I may have chosen differently, but under the circumstances what matters is that the safety of all the sparklings activated is not compromised for any reason."

Optimus leaned forward.

"Prowl, what went wrong?"

His second looked away.

"A rare combination of circumstances. It will not recur. Ratchet will ensure that."

"But..."

"Please, Optimus. I'd rather not talk about this. I'm fit for duty, that is what matters."

Optimus frowned.

"You've made that argument before. After whatever happened in the Plutes sector."

"And I was right." Prowl responded evenly, still not meeting his gaze. "What happened then had no bearing on my ability to work."

"You're not just a soldier to me, Prowl. No-one is. I care about you all as mechs first."

"And yet you cannot bear every burden yourself and the cause must go on." Prowl insisted. "I am good at what I do and you need me to do it. That should be your primary concern. Everything else is superfluous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 10.


	79. Part 15: Flight from Cybertron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15, chapter 1 of 5

The arrival at Iacon went as smoothly as he could have hoped, Omega Supreme delivering them without so much as a hint of curiosity from the Decepticons. Stepping out onto the metal surface of the planet, though, was slightly bewildering: so many vorns of hearing about Cybertron and looking at historical vids could not compare to the experience of actually being here.

"Is something wrong, Prowl?" Optimus asked, stepping up beside him.

"I have never actually visited Iacon." he admitted. "It is more impressive than I had expected."

Optimus paused, looking at the skyline.

"I suppose it is, at that. I have become so accustomed to only seeing the damage that I lose sight of what is still there. You should look around while we're here. There's no telling how long it will be before we return."

"I shall endeavour to do so." Prowl nodded. "But first, we must check in with the command hub."

"Duty first." Optimus agreed with a sigh. "Very well. This way."

* * *

Jazz stepped into the ancient High Council chamber, sadly noting the blaster damage scarring the ornate decorations and friezes. He had never been in here before the war began, few had had that privilege, but he knew it well from the regular broadcasts.

A few steps on, he saw Prowl looking up at the Prime's podium which was situated above a stylised rendition of Primus surrounded by the Thirteen.

"Impressive, ain't it?" Jazz murmured.

The carefully designed acoustics picked up his words and bounced them around the chamber.

"Do you believe Primus actually sat there, once?" Prowl asked softly.

"Prima certainly did: he's the one who had it built. Primus, I wouldn't think so." He put a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "You okay?"

Prowl did not answer for a long moment, then lowered his gaze back down to Jazz's face.

"We will have this again. We have not failed yet, and we will not fail. We cannot afford to let Megatron win."

"Plenty o'mechs've said it. Much harder t'do it."

"We will."

Jazz saw the determination in him and nodded.

"Whatever you say, babe."

Prowl turned slowly, looking around the room.

"I take it Optimus told you where to find me?"

"He told me he'd sent you off explorin' because you'd never been to Iacon before."

Prowl frowned faintly.

"I was careless. I should not have said that. It's suspicious."

"Nah, no harm done. Plenty o'mecha never came to Iacon before the war, an' plenty more got recruited in other areas an' taken straight into space. You sure you're okay?"

"It's strange. I can't imagine it whole and busy, and yet there's something about it that's so _different_ to the other bases. Something strangely familiar."

"It's home." Jazz said simply. "Bein' back on Cybertron, back closer to Primus."

"But I have not _returned_." Prowl argued, sounding frustrated. "I have never been here."

Jazz shrugged.

"Come on, I wanna show you somethin'."

He navigated a short maze of corridors, then gestured for Prowl to precede him into a large room. Multicoloured light filled the area, glowing and filling the enclosed space with soft reds and blues and mauves.

Prowl gasped softly, staring in wonder as he crept inwards.

"What... _is_ it?"

"A remnant. The crystal gardens were never all that extensive here at Iacon, an' this one's been in serious need o'proper tendin' for centuries. This one musta belonged to one of the Councillors from Praxus or Crystal City I think. Hound found it on one of his scouting trips, mentioned it just this mornin' an' I thought you needed t'see it. A little bit o'the heritage you're supposed t'have."

"It's... singing?"

"Words an' movement make'em vibrate." Jazz agreed. "The Praxian festivals were incredible. There were performances composed just to make them react in the right ways. Performers'd dance through'em to make'em sing."

"I thought you said you had never been to Praxus before it was razed." Prowl murmured, crouching down for a better look at one of the clusters.

"Never went, but I saw the broadcasts. Always meant t'go, just never got around to it."

Prowl reached out and brushed a fingertip against one of the delicate structures. He barely touched it but he set off a faint chiming that seemed to fill the whole space.

Jazz watched as Prowl listened intently to the sound that reverberated around them, enchanted by how natural the scene was. There was no awkwardness in Prowl's bearing, just serenity. Just another Praxian tending to a crystal garden. When the war ended, maybe this was where Prowl belonged?

"Beautiful." Prowl finally spoke, sliding gracefully to one side as he rose to avoid catching his doorwings on one of the tall growths behind him.

"Yeah." Jazz agreed feelingly, reaching out as Prowl approached and slipping an arm around his waist. "You sure were."

Prowl gave him an exasperated look.

"I meant the crystals."

"I know you did." Jazz agreed easily. "But that's jus' cause you couldn't see yourself. You really looked like you belonged there. A real Praxian."

Prowl shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm not Praxian, Jazz. You know that."

"I might know it, Sparkles, but anyone seein' ya there like that wouldn't believe it."

Prowl shook his head and pulled away.

"Enough. I've taken more time than I intended - I should get to the ship."

"Go on ahead, I'll be right wit'ya." Jazz let him go.

Once Prowl was out of sight, he cast about until he saw a small new growth which was forming on the rubble of a collapsed wall. Carefully dislodging it, he wrapped it in a polishing cloth and slipped it into his subspace. A small on-ship garden to tend was just what Prowl could do with to distract him during the long tedious journey ahead.

Grinning to himself he hurried after his mate, mind whirling with plans for how to get Prowl to spend the rest of the orn with him rather than on work.

* * *

Jazz's voice floated back to him from another room.

"Ooh, _nice_. All this space for li'l ol' us?"

"It's decadent." Prowl disapproved, busily downloading his workfiles into the main terminal and setting the various access levels.

Jazz continued to wander through their new quarters, commenting approvingly at various features: the triple-width berth, the private wash racks, the two antechambers...

"Two?" Prowl called, looking up.

Jazz poked his head back into the first room, grinning at him.

"You didn't even look around, did you? You came straight in here and started worrying about your work."

"We will have plenty of time to explore once we take off." Prowl pointed out. "There's no need to waste time now."

"This ain't a waste, it's work." Jazz told him firmly, returning to Prowl's side and gesturing to the terminal. " _That's_ your work. Mine is knowin' my way round this ship well enough t'get in an' out an' round whatever happens."

"I understood you had obtained the schematics some time ago."

"Schematics don't show everythin'. Like this painful orange. Who picked that, anyway?"

"It's a by-product of the process used to strengthen the building materials: there has been no time or resourcing to apply colour nanites. Sliderule did tell us that in several of his updates."

"Never did read those things." Jazz dismissed the issue, grabbing Prowl's hand. "Come look."

"I'm busy."

"That's gonna take at least another breem to finish loading - you don't need to hover over it. Come on."

Conceding privately that Jazz was right and now curious about the suite himself, he let Jazz guide him to the door. Beyond was a small foyer with two doors leading off it. Directly ahead was the berth room but Jazz pulled him off to the right. This led to another room, slightly smaller than the first and furnished with a sofa, a dedicated music player, a workstation and an energon dispenser.

"So we got a meet'n'greet room out there, an' a bit o'private entertainin' or work room in here." Jazz declared.

"Decadent." Prowl repeated firmly. "They should not have wasted all of this space."

"Did it occur to you maybe they didn't?" Jazz asked more seriously, releasing Prowl's hand and moving over to the dispenser. "I mean, they're already savin' a whole lotta space by not makin' separate quarters for the second an' third. Even givin' us this, it saves them a whole suite."

"Short-sighted, then." Prowl declared. "So long as you and I are on board it will work, but what if we go elsewhere? Or if one of us is killed?"

"If one of us is killed, both of us are." Jazz pointed out, handing him a cube.

"True, but the designers of this room are unaware of that fact. They have made their decisions based on current needs rather than considering future ones."

"Well _I_ for one think it's nice." Jazz told him firmly, heading through to the berth room. "They've put a lotta work in, just for us, an' I ain't gonna be so ungrateful as to find faults in it."

Prowl followed him through to the berthroom and stopped in the doorway. The berth Jazz had commented on was indeed a particularly large one, but he had not mentioned that it was also covered in a thick layer of contour foam: apparently a tradition in both Praxus and Kaon because of the high proportions of flyers and doorwinged mechs. It meant he could lie on any angle without fear of damaging the joints or scratching the sensitive panels - something he could normally only do cautiously.

Turning to Jazz he found his mate grinning at him.

"Wanna try it out?"

"Now?"

"Why not?" Jazz shrugged. "An' before you start, I happen to know they put it on _all_ the berths, not just ours. Iacon used t'manufacture it, I guess they had a stockpile. Might as well use it, eh?"

"You've been here already, haven't you?" Prowl guessed belatedly.

"Course I have. You really think I'd wait for the formal inspection?" His casual smile faded. "Or let Prime come aboard to a set o'quarters half o'Iacon's been workin' on? It needed checkin' out."

"And?"

"An' it's a good thing I did." Jazz told him soberly, then shook his head. "But that's my work, not yours, an' not important right now. So. Whaddaya say?"

"To...?"

It was tempting. They were both off duty until the official inspection in the morning, and while he had planned to spend his time preparing his work schedule and files, there was no reason why he could not do that later. Assisting that decision, Jazz slid an arm around his waist, stroking his hip idly.

"Only if you're feelin' up to it, 'course. Don't wanna rush ya if you're still a little..."

"Jazz?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Shut up and frag me."

* * *

Jazz disentangled his limbs from Prowl's and headed across the room to a cupboard where he had earlier stored some energon. Prowl turned on his side to watch him and huffed quietly when he saw the tray of goodies.

"And they say _I'm_ the planner."

Jazz sat on the edge of the berth and set the tray down between them, running a hand along Prowl's side.

"It's good t'see ya lookin' happy again. No more aches?"

"None besides those caused by the medication, and that is diminishing - it seems my systems are becoming accustomed to the heavy additives. The spark pain has completely gone."

Jazz nodded, momentarily distracted by the thought of how close they had come to things going so horribly wrong, then he shook that off.

"We'll be more careful next time." he promised.

"If there _is_ a next time." Prowl countered. "Right now I think I like just having your focused attention."

"Well you've got that." Jazz assured him, letting his fingers wander further.

Prowl's optics dimmed in pleasure at the caress and stretched his arms languidly out above his head.

"It's strange, finally being here on the _Ark_ again after planning it for so long. In fact, I must remember to... _oh_. Do _that_ again."

Jazz chuckled, obliging him.

"All those mecha who think you're part drone should see you like this. That'd change their minds."

Prowl rolled onto his stomach, tilting his head to look up at Jazz.

"And just why would I want to do that? They don't have to like me, Jazz, they just have to do what I ask of them."

"Then why're you puttin' so much effort into Blue?"

Prowl didn't respond and Jazz took a goody off the tray.

"These aren't bad, actually. The magnesium's a bit tangy, but still pretty tasty. Here, have one."

He leaned over pressing it to Prowl's lips and laughing as his lover accepted the gift then spat it out again immediately, spluttering at the sharp taste.

" 'A bit tangy' ?" Prowl complained, wiping his face.

"Hey, these were really hard to get at all. Be a bit grateful, eh?"

Prowl snorted but picked up another from the tray and examined it carefully before cautiously biting into it.

"Mm. You're right. Once you get past the magnesium coating they're not bad. So. Is there some reason for this extravagance, or is this just you being romantic?"

"Could be both." Jazz teased.

"Could be, but isn't?"

Jazz picked up another of the goodies and toyed with it, his humour sliding away.

"Well, okay, there's somethin'. I dunno how you're gonna take it, though."

"You want to stay here when we go." Prowl said, attention apparently on selecting another goody.

Typical Prowl, always a step ahead.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I know you - you've been restless trapped aboard the _Beacon_. I'm mildly surprised you did not try to assign yourself away missions more often."

"Someone's gotta stay here t'help the ones who get left behind. We're gonna take everyone who'll come, I know, but there're already some who've said they won't leave Cybertron. Are we really gonna leave them to Megatron an' Shockwave wit' no-one t'keep'em safe? An' what about the volunteers who're keepin' up the fiction that Ovacalix an' Kalisi are still goin' concerns? They deserve some support."

Jazz paused but Prowl stayed silent so he continued with the final point of his argument.

"It ain't like I'm gonna be needed out there, Prowler. You know that. I ain't a navigator or pilot, an' it ain't like there's gonna be much call for infiltration on some Con-free world out there when ya finally stop. An' don't try'n say I should be there jus' cause I'm an officer. I ain't cut out for datawork an' organisin' duty rosters. I need t'be _doin'_ stuff. Stuff that matters."

"Optimus will not like it."

"I know. An' I know it means I'm takin' off on you again an' I don't like it. But mechs here'll lose hope after awhile if there ain't someone who can hold the faith. I'll _know_ you're still out there."

Prowl watched him for a long moment.

"Then you should stay." he said finally, before looking around himself again with a slight frown. "Which makes these quarters all the more extravagant, since I will be in them alone."

"Simple as that?"

"I have access to the mission reports. Meister was far and away Curveball's most effective agent. And you're right: you're not programmed for administration. Besides, I have also been concerned for those remaining behind. Having you here will be a way of retaining cohesion within that group." He paused. "I will miss you. We will not be able to return for a very long time."

"I know, an' I've been thinkin' about that too. But you're the one who keeps sayin' the war comes ahead of us. You can do your stuff here wit' Prime. I can't. My work... the further we get from the Cons, the more useless I am. I need t'stay where I can find stuff out."

"Even if you can't get that data to us?"

"I'll get it to ya when ya come back."

"I could always stay here with you." Prowl mused. "The plan is simple, and there will be little need for my battleplans once the _Ark_ escapes the chasing fleet."

"Prime'll need ya to prepare the plans t'come back."

"Smokescreen and Trailbreaker would manage."

"Maybe. Still, Ratchet ain't just gonna let ya outta his sight right now, is he?"

Prowl sighed.

"No, he is not. Though I wish..."

Jazz waited for him to finish, finding Prowl's wistful tone an uncomfortable reminder of the recent revelations. But the desire remained unspoken, Prowl shaking his head and refocusing.

"So when are you intending to tell Optimus?"

"Closer to the launch. Maybe by message after you're on your way, so he can't do anythin' about it."

"No. Last time you upset him deeply doing it that way. This time I will tell him."

"That means you'll take part o'the blame. This is my call, not yours."

"But I'm not stopping you. It makes me a collaborator. Jazz: this could be a _very_ long time..."

"However long it is, I'll still know you're out there."

Prowl's expression was peculiar but Jazz could not quite read it, and Prowl was ignoring his nudges at the bond to get clarity.

"It makes sense, right?" Jazz asked. "You thought of it yourself."

"Yes." Prowl said simply, with no indication of which statement he was agreeing to, then picked up the mostly-empty tray and set it on the floor before leaning back on the berth.

"You ain't mad, are ya?"

"No, Jazz, I'm not angry." Prowl assured him, reaching out a hand to catch his and pulling him close. "But I will miss you."

Reassured, Jazz put his head on Prowl's shoulder.

"I'll miss ya too. But in the meantime, lets make the most of what we've got."


	80. Part 15: Flight from Cybertron, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15, chapter 2 of 5

Prowl stepped quietly onto the bridge and walked up to where the officer in command was poring over a terminal with several others. He could see enough to tell that their activity was harmless if not exactly part of their duties: it appeared they were using one of the imaging systems to recolour several others. Ironhide had been painted black while Ratchet was a lurid green, and it appeared that Jazz was to be next but they had not yet decided on a palette.

"How goes the watch?" he intoned politely, amused but not showing it.

Immediately the group scattered back to their stations and Codex spun about.

"Prowl, sir? I thought you were off duty."

He was, and he would have happily stayed that way if not for a call pulling Jazz out to Iacon's outskirts to meet with one of his agents. Such things could not be scheduled but it was still frustrating: they would be leaving in only a few more orns, and with Jazz's intention to remain behind every moment together had become precious.

In an attempt to distract himself from that unreasonable irritation he had decided upon a surprise inspection of the _Ark_ 's command centre. Most of the crew were off-ship, but the ones on duty should be alert.

Perusing a random selection of duty reports he was pleased to see that everything was in order in spite of how it had appeared when he arrived. He was almost ready to leave them to their work, vaguely considering the indulgence of a soak in a hot oil bath, when one of the ensigns spoke up.

"Sir? I've got another anomaly in sector 3. Camera down."

"Send a maintenance squad." Codex ordered, then added more quietly. "Strange. That's the third time this shift."

"For that camera?" Prowl asked.

"No, three separate ones. The power surges are getting to them."

"What surges?"

"Maintenance have been reporting them since the shift started. They can't find the source, but they're looking for it. They think it's just a bad connection somewhere."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is deliberate sabotage. Has anyone reported this to Special Operations?"

"Not yet, there really hasn't been enought to warrant it. The patrols and sensors haven't seen anything and..."

He did not get to finish as the ship was rocked by a large explosion nearby.

"Identify that!" Prowl snapped. "Communications - get on to the Hub and find out what's going on. Security get..." Another explosion, this one further away but it caused the lights to flicker. "Security - find the Prime and get him on board! Pilots, get us disconnected from Iacon's power grid and start warming the engines. We need to get airborne!"

"Sir - we've got no comms, we're being jammed."

"Keep trying. Raise the second-level shielding and prepare the lasers. We can't lose this ship now."

"I've got Decepticons on visual! They're attacking the residential section!"

"Have we got comms yet?"

"Not yet."

"Lemme have a go." Blaster demanded, rushing into the room and over to the main communications panel.

"Engineering reports that the generators are still going through their final checks."

"Checking time is over: get those engines online. Is Wheeljack down there?"

"Yes sir."

"Tell him to get on with it and release the docking clamps. We need to be ready to launch on a click's notice. Are weapons online yet?"

"Negative, I need a high level override code."

Moving over to the appropriate terminal, Prowl entered his personal code but it needed a second while they were still on the ground: Red Alert had been paranoid that defectors might use the _Ark_ 's firepower to critically damage Iacon and had changed the authorisation settings. No time to waste on useless regret, he turned to look at who was present and who could be spared from their duty station.

"Warpath! Find Red Alert - he should be on his way here. He needs to unlock this panel. Codex, if any of the other officers get here first, they can do the same. Blaster - progress?"

"Nothing, Prowl. We're dead to the airwaves."

"Fine. Come with me. Codex, you're in command - keep the shields up, fire on any confirmed targets you can make out, and keep trying the communications lines."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To help. I can do nothing from in here if we have no comms. Blaster, Cobalt and Surefire with me. Drillbit - get out there and help Wheeljack's group sort out the engines. Cliffjumper - send someone for me as soon as we have minimum thrust."

He strode out of the command centre, scattering milling mecha many of whom were injured and dazed civilians, none of whom should have been this deep in the ship. Grabbing a couple of passing soldiers he told them to clear the corridors and get the injured down to the repair bay.

"What are you going to do?" Blaster asked, catching up with him as he moved on.

"I'm going to take up position somewhere I can do some actual good. There's a small double-shielded area just outside the High Council chambers. It's a recognisable point, has good perspective, and there's a hardline connection to the hub. I'll pass orders from there."

"They'll see you." Blaster protested. "They'll target you."

"That's why I'm not going alone, but I need you to get the message out beyond the Hub."

"Everything's jammed."

"Find a way." Prowl ordered flatly. "Cobalt! Surefire! Arm up. We're likely to strike heavy resistance." He turned back to Blaster. "Order everyone to converge on the Ark. Get the message out by shouting it from the tops of buildings if you have to but get it done. Previous plans no longer matter, we _cannot_ fail here!"

* * *

Sideswipe ducked behind an abandoned transport as another explosion threw shrapnel in every direction. Iacon was a mess. The ancient dome shield that had kept it safe all these vorns had inexplicably failed. Or perhaps not so inexplicably. Almost certainly the work of some Decepticon agent.

Hurrying onward, he could see the _Ark_ looming ahead of him, still protected by its own shields and the dock shielding. Blaster's audible broadcast had drawn Decepticons to it as well as Autobots, but there was little other option for sanctuary so he did not pause to consider whether or not it was wise. If the shields failed, everyone would die. On the other hand, if they stayed out here they would die. No choices.

A familiar pulse made him pause and peer into the chaos. Sunstreaker was in that direction, on the other side of the _Ark_. Well, his twin would just have to take care of himself, it was too hard to get all the way around there from here. Particularly since the Cons had taken out almost every bridge in Iacon. He had only managed to get this far because of his jet pack.

It was disturbing how few others he had seen. Where were all the civilians? Where were all the other Autobots? What if the _Ark_ took off before he got there?

No time to consider. Run, shoot, take cover, run again. And pray. That was all there was.

* * *

Another explosion made the whole area rock and shake.

Prowl clung to a support pole, determined to stay upright. He had had his data wires violently pulled from the connecting sockets twice already due to losing his footing, and he had no intention of letting it happen again.

The power outages had limited what he could access from out here, but he had activated the lockdown protocols on all of the databases he could reach. No point making the data easily accessible to the enemy. He had also set a few nasty traps for anyone who tried to unlock them without the right codes. It was not his best skill, but since the destruction of the _Escaphalion_ he had made sure he knew enough to not need a specialist to do this for him: in an emergency there was not always one to hand.

~Blaster!~ he called through the Hub hardline connection. ~Has the message gone out yet?~

Even the Hub line was suffering. Too many broken lines, too many damaged routers, too little power. Blaster's message was badly garbled and almost inaudible through the static.

~I...one...ocking signals...ndwave...~

~Repeat!~

~...ssage transmit...essfully.~

~Then get your aft back to the _Ark_!~ Prowl ordered, groaning aloud as the ground lurched again beneath him.

At this rate they would all die here. The sudden and complete failure of Iacon's shields had caught them totally unprepared. If not for Red Alert's paranoia requiring extra shielding around the _Ark_ 's dock the ship would certainly have been destroyed by now, but if they could not launch it in the next few breems it may still be crushed by the collapse of the surrounding structures.

"Prowl!" Trailbreaker yelled to him, stumbling out of an alleyway across the courtyard from the Council chamber. "We still can't get the docking clamps disengaged!"

"Blow them up!" he yelled back over the noise of another explosion against the shielding above. "We don't have time to waste on that."

Probabilities streamed across his HUD and none of them were good: the situation was near hopeless. Most of the crew were nowhere to be found, many were likely already dead. Communications were down, half the sector seemed to be ablaze, and the attackers were relentless.

Disconnecting from the Hub and turning back to where his defenders were he stared for a moment in shock. Cobalt and Surefire were both splayed on the ground, their shells greyed, along with fourteen other Autobots and another handful of others who must have been Neutrals. In their place were now Bluestreak, Brawn, Tremolo and Sunstreaker; all injured, but currently holding their own.

Had he really been so distracted that he had not even noticed the carnage only a few steps away? He shoved the thought away. Now was not the time to mourn, he needed to act.

"It's time for us to go."

"About slagging time!" Sunstreaker swore.

"Go!" Brawn ordered. "We'll cover you and follow."

He did not argue: he was the least combat-seasoned of the group and the most valuable target for the Decepticons. Trusting the others to do their jobs, he made a quick analysis of the surroundings then dashed towards where Trailbreaker had been moments before.

He was conscious of every step as he ran. Movement to his right drew his attention and he pinged for a signal. Receiving nothing in return, he fired one of his shoulder-mounted rockets without sparing the time to look. It was possible that it had been a Neutral, or even an Autobot who had lost his transmitter, but the greatest likelihood was that it was a Decepticon.

Reaching the alley, he wasted a click to look at what he had hit and felt relieved as he saw the mangled form of a Seeker. A step later he cursed himself for delaying unnecessarily as everything exploded around him. The Seeker's trinemates attacking, most likely; in any case, someone was shooting at him. Their aim was terrible if they were trying to hit him, but they were successfully hitting the buildings and raining debris down onto him. A large chunk of metal landed on his leg, crumpling his ankle, but he limped on. Laser fire grazed his hip, searing his armour without burning through.

The ground heaved again, tossing him against a wall and he hit his head hard. Dazed, he pulled himself up and kept going. There was no time to be concerned about injuries. When he was back on board the Ark and they were safely away, _then_ he would worry about what damage he might have sustained.

Someone behind him pinged him and he responded, then he saw Tremolo run ahead to take point and Bluestreak caught up to him.

"You're hurt! Can you walk? We're nearly back now. Here, give me your arm."

Grateful for the assistance, he slung one arm over Bluestreak's shoulders and they hobbled onward.

"Where are Brawn and Sunstreaker?"

"Not far back." Bluestreak assured him. "You could see them if you turned, but I don't think you should, it'll waste too much time."

"Agreed."

Not far now, but the Decepticons were becoming more determined in their attacks. He and Bluestreak became stuck behind a remnant of an old wall as they were targetted with a barrage of laser fire. Brawn and Sunstreaker joined them, and for a while it was a standoff.

Taking a moment to assess the damage to his leg he was dismayed to find he was still losing energon at an alarming rate. Bracing himself, he reached into the wound and crimped the fluid line with his fingers. It hurt, but he had suffered worse and he had no intention of bleeding out so close to safety.

"Have any of you got any grenades? Bombs? Shrapnel weapons?" he asked, straightening unsteadily.

The answers were all negative.

"Very well. I have one rocket left. I will aim for the ground in front of the centre of the group. They will believe I have missed, but it will raise enough debris and smoke cover that we can run for the ramp."

"But you can't run." Bluestreak pointed out anxiously.

"I can and will." Prowl assured him. "Be ready. We will go as soon as I have fired."

Preparing his target in advance, he swung briefly into position and fired, then ran.

It hurt. A lot. But he kept up with the others as they ran and fired into the smoke in the hope of hitting one of the Decepticons there. Those Decepticons continued to fire back, and he heard several of the others cry out as the random fire occasionally found a mark.

He focused solely on moving, not even bothering to unsubspace his rifle. Every step got him closer to safety. One more, and one more, and one more... and then he was finally there. Clutching at a railing for stability he lurched inside, waving off the medtechs who wanted to see to his leg and seeking out mechs who could carry the orders he needed to give.

"It can wait! See to the soldiers. Crosspoint! How many have we got aboard?"

"Two hundred and forty one. But only eighty-nine of those are part of the assigned crew, the rest are a mix of Iacon residents including Neutral noncombatants."

"There could be some Decepticons amongst them." Prowl nodded, limping over to the lift. "Lock all doors down to passcode access only and gather everyone without a code in the aft hangars. We'll sort them out later. Lets get going."

"We can't, sir."

"Why not?"

"Prime is still not aboard."


	81. Part 15: Flight from Cybertron, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15, chapter 3 of 5

Jazz cast about for assistance through the cloying smoke that choked his path and spotted a familiar figure.

"Sideswipe! Lend a hand!" he roared as he and Onyx struggled to drag an offline Optimus towards the _Ark_.

"What happened?" Sideswipe demanded, spinning about to return fire on a jet before waving them on.

"Seekers bombed the femmes." Onyx choked out. "They got Elita One."

Sideswipe stopped and stared, shocked, and Jazz snapped at him.

"If we don't get him aboard they'll have him too!"

The frontliner shook himself and kept pace, providing covering fire, but kept shaking his head.

"Elita One is dead? I can't believe it."

"The explosion went off right in front of her." Onyx reported numbly.

Jazz said nothing, intent on getting Optimus on board but hyperconscious of far too many other things he should be seeking answers to right at this moment.

Where were his agents who should have sent out warnings long before the enemy got close? Why had no-one yet triggered the explosives he had so carefully rigged around their ammunition stores in case of an emergency evacuation? How had things gotten so bad, so fast?

It was barely a groon since he and Prowl had been dozing together in their new quarters, just enjoying each other's presence. Prowl had gone strangely quiet since their discussion about him staying at Iacon, not so much upset as distant. It made Jazz wonder again if he were doing the right thing, but every time he raised the issue Prowl insisted that he understood and it was logical, and that the decision had been made.

The call from Lowstrike did not interrupt anything much, neither conversational nor physical, they were simply cuddling. Prowl had not protested when he got up, just watched him leave. At the time, Jazz had sworn to himself that he was going to only be a few breems. After all, Lowstrike's duties were fairly mundane, he was assigned to monitoring the ambient light levels on the western horizon. If the Decepticons sent a patrol, one of the first signs would be a shifting in the power grid to set up a staging post. It was a signal that had saved more Autobot lives than just about any other since the staging post was usually set up orns before any real offensive was launched.

He had been halfway to the rendezvous point when everything had gone insane. A large communications satellite had crashed into the dome above him had shattered and the inner forcefield had begun to short out under the pressure of the debris. He had quickly transformed and ducked around crashing lumps of masonry, initially unable to see what had caused it. And then the first bombs began to fall.

Changing direction, he had tried to reach the nearest bunker but had been blocked by a collapsing bridge and forced to detour around. All comms were jammed and he had seen mecha running in every direction. A few of them recognised him and followed when he called to them, but many more were too frightened and too stressed to respond.

Many had died in those first two breems.

In the end, the only option had been to head for the _Ark_. He was not intending to go there himself, but with so many relying on him he had to make the effort. And then he had rounded a corner just in time to catch a glimpse of Optimus and Elita just before the seeker's attack.

One thing he knew for sure, that initial explosion had killed no-one at all. It had been a smokebomb, designed to confound rather than kill. He would have made a personal effort to get to them except that Optimus had lunged after his mate and gotten himself hit by a more serious concussive blast and was offline, the same blast knocking the femme off the edge of the causeway and down into the depths of the space under Iacon. Jazz had felt torn but had not hesitated: of the two priorities, Prime came first.

Finally reaching one of the loading bays, Jazz returned his attention fully to the present and checked his rifle and ammunition stores. Low, but there was no time to change that, he would have to make do. He strode back towards the now closed hatch only to be stopped by Brawn.

"Where're you going?"

"Back out. There're still survivors out there."

"They'll have to look after themselves: now Prime's on board we're taking off."

"That's fine for you, but I'm goin' out there."

"Prowl's ordered everyone's to stay aboard now Prime's here."

Jazz snarled.

"We've got friends out there who need help. I'm goin'."

Brawn shook his head.

"No. You're not."

"Out of my way, Brawn." Jazz intoned. "Right now. That's an order."

"Prowl outranks you."

Jazz reached out, intending to drag the obstinate minibot out of his way by force if necessary, then stumbled as the ship lurched.

He was too late: they had launched.

* * *

Prowl knew the instant Jazz stepped onto the bridge and he felt a disorienting wave of shock as he realised he had not even wondered where his lover was, he had just assumed Jazz could look after himself and focused on everything else. But his relief was short-lived as he took in Jazz's demeanour: the icy fury was unmistakable, and Prowl saw several of the others duck for cover.

"Turn this ship around."

Prowl turned to face him. This was not Jazz, not really: this was Meister, the side of Jazz's personality he rarely ever saw. A total stranger in many ways and a dangerous one, but right now Prowl felt like he could stare down Megatron himself if he had to. All that mattered was that they escaped, and that goal had not yet been achieved.

"No. It's too dangerous."

"We're losing mechs with every click you delay. Jumper, you turn us round _now_."

"Belay that." Prowl ordered, keeping his focus on Jazz. "We are not fully armed, we are missing much of our active crew, and we are being pursued by half the Decepticon fleet led by the _Nemesis_. The only reason we have survived thus far is that we are fractionally faster."

"Fine." Jazz changed tack. "I'll take a shuttle."

"All shuttles are locked down." Prowl pointed out as he turned away to respond to a new alert on his console that needed his immediate attention. "We cannot afford to slow sufficiently to launch one."

"Then let me launch at full speed!" Jazz exploded. "We have allies trapped back there - we have to help them!"

"Launching at full speed is suicidal." Perceptor protested.

"It can be done. I've done it. I'll make it."

"And then fly straight into the Cons!" Windcharger cried.

"I'll take that chance."

"No. You won't." Prowl shook his head, finishing his task and looking up again. "Request denied."

Jazz growled and paced right up to him until they were nearly touching, glowering darkly.

"I don't interfere in your work an' you ain't supposed to interfere in mine." he hissed. "Now either you give this order an' make it official or I'll find my own way, but I _am_ goin' back there."

For seven clicks there was utter silence on the bridge, no-one around them willing to intervene, and then it was broken by Ratchet's voice on the comm.

~Prowl. Jazz. My office.~

"I don't have slaggin' time for this." Jazz swore but strode out and Prowl followed.

The _Ark_ was a much larger ship than the last few they had been on, and the repair bay was two decks down and a good way across: right in the heart of the ship. But not a word was spoken as they traversed that distance, and mecha scattered to stay out of their way as they swept along.

Prowl managed to keep pace with Jazz in spite of the sharp reminders from his hip and patch-welded ankle with every step; he saw Jazz coldly take note of the injuries but then choose to ignore them.

They entered the bay to find structured chaos, Ratchet's apprentices hard at work on the injured, but they did not pause on their way through. Entering through the open office door, they were met with Ratchet talking even before they were inside, not looking up.

"He's physically okay. We'll have to replace some of his panels, but it's cosmetic and I've got higher priorities right now. I need guards set on his room until he comes out of stasis and then..."

"This is just a progress report!" Jazz interrupted, incredulous.

Ratchet looked up from his terminal, scowling.

"I'd have thought you'd be concerned about Prime's welfare."

"I'm more concerned about his sparkmate's."

"I heard Elita One was dead."

"We don't know that. We don't know a whole lotta things now that we've all gone and run away..."

"Ratchet!" a voice called from the other room. "We've got a pump failure!"

The medic rushed out, cursing, leaving them alone. The door closed automatically behind him and Prowl sank into a chair.

"No shuttle could get you back to Cybertron now." he pointed out, knowing that Jazz was in no mood to be rational but needing to try to make him see reason anyway. "Even without the Decepticons to contend with it's too far."

"I could head for Ovacalix. Find somewhere to hole up. Flag down a transport."

"Prime needs his officers here. Now, particularly."

"Never wanted to be an officer, you know that. We shouldn'ta left so fast. You shoulda _waited_."

Prowl bristled.

"If you're waiting for me to apologise for the decisions I made, you needn't bother. I did what I had to do."

"We coulda saved more."

"If we had delayed much longer, we could have lost everything."

"You waited for Prime."

"Of course I did, he's the _Prime_."

"So you're tellin' me you woulda waited if he was still out there now?"

"I had to make a decision."

"Well ya made the _wrong_ one." Jazz spat.

Prowl shook his head, disagreeing but not bothering to continue with a futile argument. Jazz glared at him, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"Y'know how he got injured?"

"Trying to save Elita One. I heard she died."

"Injured maybe. And by now? Yeah, pro'ly deactivated. But not _then_. If you'd given me just a few more breems... just a handful o'clicks..."

"I did not have that time to give you."

"An' if _I'd_ still been outside? If I'd chosen to go back and leave the others to bring Optimus in?"

"Then I would be praying you were safe, but I could not have delayed. I could not, Jazz."

Jazz vented sharply and stalked out, and all Prowl could do was watch him go.

* * *

"Slagging glitch-ridden, dim-sparked, single-tracked _pitspawn_..."

With every new curse Jazz struck out violently at the training drones around him, leaving carnage behind him. It did nothing to ease his rage, and the gossipy murmurs from his audience only made things worse.

"What's got him so upset?"

"Prowl. Jazz wanted to stay to save a few more back at Iacon, but Prowl gave the order to take off."

"You're kidding me. We nearly got blown up! We would've been killed if we'd stayed any longer!"

"Try telling _him_ that."

"We're still being chased - they could still get us."

"Yeah they could." Jazz growled, turning on his observers. "An' just what're you doin' about it, huh? Why aren't you armin' up, checkin' your ammo levels, fuellin', checkin' in with your supervisors? If you ain't got enough t'do I'll _find_ you somethin' t'do. Now _scat_!"

He watched them flee, then turned on the one who had remained.

"What're you lookin' at? I can find work for you too, y'know."

"He did the right thing, Jazz."

"Don't get me started, Sunny, I ain't in the mood."

"You want to work off the anger? I'm game. I lost friends today. But it could've been worse. It still could be."

"He coulda waited just a few more clicks for me t'get back off."

"Oh and abandon him _again_? Primus, you just love doing that, don't you?"

"Shove it up your aft. You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I know you're the slagging _third in command_. You don't _get_ to go off and play commando. You're supposed to be here."

"Right. That's it. You're mine."

"Bring it on."


	82. Part 15: Flight from Cybertron, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15, chapter 4 of 5

"Stupid slagger." Sideswipe growled as he saw Sunstreaker's optics flicker on.

"What happened?"

"You got pounded into the deckplates by the mech you promised me you were gonna steer clear of. I told you it wasn't a good idea."

"He needed someone to set him right."

Sideswipe shook his head.

"Someone not you, obviously. You should've heard Ratchet when they dragged you in. Did you even _try_ to fight back?"

"I got some hits in." Sunstreaker protested indignantly, struggling to sit up.

"Some." Sideswipe confirmed, supporting him until he had his balance. "But he wasn't the one who had to be carried back here, now was he?"

Sunstreaker glared at him, then snorted and leaned back against the wall behind the berth.

"Always knew it'd be a bad idea to bait him. Next time I'll be ready."

Sideswipe grinned.

"Unless I help out, next time you'll probably be dead."

A horrified gasp made both twins look up to see Prowl in the doorway.

"Jazz did this?" Prowl asked, stepping a little closer. "Why?"

"Because Sunny was in his way at the wrong time." Sideswipe shrugged. "Hey don't look for sympathy from _me_ , bro, I _told_ you to stay out of his way."

"Someone needed to get some sense through to him."

"What were you thinking?" Prowl demanded, looking anxious. "Did you choose not to defend yourself at all?"

Sunstreaker's optics blazed.

"Of course I fraggin' well tried. The mech's unstoppable! How come he's never out with the troops when we're fighting?"

Prowl's posture stiffened.

"I want to see the medical report when they're done with you."

Sideswipe looked at his twin, then back at Prowl.

"Why? What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to decide whether or not he will have to be demoted. In the meantime I need to put Jazz in the brig. I cannot condone a danger to the crew being loose in the ship during our escape. Sunstreaker, I am sorry about what happened, and I _will_ see this resolved. What Jazz has done is unacceptable and he will answer for it."

Prowl headed back out, and Sideswipe chased after him.

"Come on, Prowl, you can't be serious. You wouldn't really put Jazz in the brig."

"Of course I would. I should have done it already, but I thought the initial reports of him brawling were exaggerated. I see now they were not. The only question is whether the brig time is sufficient as a punishment or whether more serious measures are warranted."

"You'd take him to trial over this!"

"I would do the same with anyone who attacked one of our soldiers. Jazz's rank and his personal relationship to me should have nothing to do with it."

"Look Sunny's okay, and he's not going to press charges. If you take this to trial he'll refuse to testify. Jazz didn't really hurt him that much. Honest, Prowl, he's been hurt worse in training!"

Prowl stopped, doorwings quivering with anger even as his expression remained coolly implacable.

"He shouldn't've done it at all. And I can't believe you two are willing to forgive him for this."

Sideswipe struggled to find an argument that might actually mean something to Prowl. The problem was that the tactician saw things so much in absolutes: Jazz's actions were wrong and must be punished.

"I was there when he came aboard. He wanted to go back and he couldn't and that made him mad. I know how that feels and so does Sunny. Jazz needs to be doing things, Prowl, it's the way he is."

"And that excuses him from incapacitating one of our own? No. He went too far."

"He knows that." Sideswipe argued. "Look, he could have _killed_ Sunny. He could've done a whole lot more damage than he did, no worries. We always knew Jazz was good, but he's way better than we thought: if he really wanted to hurt Sunny, he would've, but he was holding back. He just needed to blow off some steam, and Sunny was pushing him into it."

"And what if next time he's provoked by someone not as skilled as your brother? How can we trust him?"

"You always did." Sideswipe pointed out. "You knew what he did long before most've us did, and you always trusted him. Has that really changed? He was always dangerous, Prowl, but you thought he was a good mech at spark and you were _right_. Everyone does stupid stuff sometimes. Well, except for you I guess, but everyone else does."

Prowl stared at him for a long moment, then turned away.

"Go and look after your brother. I'll decide what action to take once I have seen the medical report."

Sideswipe watched him go, then opened his comm. He was going to need support to stop Prowl doing something he would regret, and he knew just the mech to get things started.

* * *

"Anything to report?" Prowl asked, returning to the bridge after a brief and futile attempt to recharge.

"I thought you were off shift?" Smokescreen asked quietly.

"I took one joor to charge, fuel and report to the medics." Prowl responded calmly. "That is enough for now."

Smokescreen shook his head.

"You've been on duty since we took off. Since before, even."

"As has Red Alert, and he has taken even less rest than I."

They stood in silence for awhile, Smokescreen looking sidelong at him periodically until Prowl finally gave in.

"Was there something you needed?"

"I'm just wondering what you're going to do about Jazz."

It was the question he had expected, but after nearly three groons brooding on it he still had no proper answer.

"What would you suggest?"

"Well," Smokescreen considered, "you haven't thrown him in the brig yet."

"Yet." Prowl allowed.

"That's not a bad thing. I mean, Jazz is pretty popular."

Prowl flicked his doorwings in irritation.

"He sent one of our strongest frontliners to the medics in less than three breems."

"Exactly." Smokescreen nodded. "You see? He's the best we've got. And we _need_ the best, with Megatron right on our exhaust trail."

"Even if he's as likely to turn on one of our own as the enemy?"

"Jazz wouldn't do that." Smokescreen said confidently. "Sunny can rile anyone up. Anyway, scary or not, he's still _Jazz_. We know that."

Prowl opened his mouth to respond, then sensed Jazz approaching and clamped his jaw shut. All this time he had been trying to decide what to do when this next confrontation came and he was still no clearer, but there was no more time to ponder it. The crew were mostly on Jazz's side? It made no sense, but he would accept it. Everything now depended on his mate's actions.

And Primus help Jazz if he tried to start another argument because Prowl was not in the mood.

There was a soft hiss as the doors to the bridge opened, and Prowl saw several of the crew startle. Smokescreen glanced over to see what had bothered them, froze, then edged backwards.

"I... uh, you've got everything under control here, so I think I'll go check in with Red Alert."

He departed quickly, with several backward glances, several others slipping out with him, leaving only the critical duty crew at their stations and studiously ignoring what was going on behind them.

For his part, Prowl did not turn even when Jazz moved to stand beside him.

"Prime's up an' about, tried to discharge himself." Jazz reported softly. "Ratchet's hauled him back to the repair bay - seems he doesn't remember any of it."

No immediate argument, then, Prowl mused, and met the apparent professionalism with his own.

"Does he want us there to debrief?"

"Not much point; Ratch's got him locked away til he's finished sortin' him out. How's it goin'?"

"They're maintaining position behind us. We have only gained a groon on our initial lead."

"I thought this ship was faster'n that?"

"We still have only three functioning engines; the fourth sustained damage when we destroyed the docking clamps. It's being looked at, but such things are dangerous while running at full speed."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the others tiptoeing around them, cautious not to draw any attention. Finally Prowl nodded towards the Duty Officer's ready room.

"Come with me."

Jazz followed quietly and closed the door.

"Have you decided to be professional about this?" Prowl asked bluntly. "Or are you going to attack more of the crew after we've argued again?"

Jazz frowned.

"Sunny provoked me into it. You know I wouldn't normally."

He was tired of hearing that excuse.

"I don't know what I know about you, right now. I would've said you had enough control of yourself to keep from sending one of our soldiers to the medics no matter the provocation. I didn't know you were on board when I gave the order. Primus help me, I didn't even think about it! I was doing what needed to be done to save the Autobots, which meant saving the Prime. Without him..."

"I know!" Jazz interrupted sharply, then repeated more softly. "I know. I'm sorry. I was angry. I'm usedta makin' my own calls an' goin' my own way. I coulda done more."

"We each did what we could, and those left behind will have to do the same. Taking it out on those around you is inappropriate."

Jazz looked away.

"I know."

"Then why did you do it? _Why_ , Jazz?"

"I was angry." Jazz said helplessly.

Prowl shook his head.

"That's not enough."

"I know. But it's the truth."

Prowl offlined his optics for a moment then reopened them hurriedly as his memory brought forth an image of Sunstreaker slumped on the medical berth.

"You could have killed him, which would have cost the Autobots him _and_ Sideswipe. And for that you would have been executed. Which would have cost the Autobots both of us and with no-one in charge with Prime injured. You could have cost us the _war_ , Jazz! And for what? A temper tantrum?"

"I wouldn'ta killed'im." Jazz said quietly. "I wasn't that far outta control."

"And what if next time you are?" Prowl demanded. "What if next time it's not someone you know, or if it's someone who can't defend himself like Sunstreaker did? Primus, Jazz, how can I explain to anyone that we can still _trust_ you? It looks like I'm playing favourites, and even _I_ don't know whether I am or not."

Jazz looked at him seriously.

"It won't happen again. I swear it."

"And what if you get angry again?" Prowl asked bitterly.

"I won't let it happen. Not like this."

Prowl rubbed at his face.

"I don't know if that's enough, Jazz. I really don't. What you did was wrong."

"I know. An' I'll take the brig time or whatever comes of it. It's what I deserve."

"It is."

Jazz nodded slowly.

"Right. So. You gonna let me go quiet, or you want to assign a security team t'see me down there?"

Prowl stared at him for a long time, feeling torn. Part of him wanted to see Jazz bound and incarcerated and punished for his behaviour. But a larger part of him wanted his bondmate near to him and free to help. They were still in a lot of trouble. The Decepticons were uncomfortably close, Optimus was injured and grieving, their numbers were decimated and everyone was confused and upset.

He made his decision, praying fervently that he would not regret it.

"The twins are insisting it was Sunny's fault as much as yours; that if he hadn't provoked you, you wouldn't've touched him. They've got witnesses who say the same thing, and the security tape backs them up. If I summon a security team at this stage, they may well refuse to incarcerate you."

"So what're ya gonna do?" Jazz asked warily.

"I have no idea. And right now there's too much else to do to waste time on it. For now you're on probation: you so much as _look_ as though you're going to touch another Autobot and I'll have you locked away for longer than you'd believe even if I have to do it myself. I'll get Ratchet to put you so deep in stasis it'll take Primus himself to wake you up."

Jazz nodded soberly.

"Heard an' understood, boss."

Prowl frowned sharply.

"I am in no mood for insolence from you."

"I ain't bein' cheeky. You rank me. I'm doin' like I'm told."

Prowl stared at him suspiciously for a moment, testing the bond and only getting a sense of apology and honesty, and relented.

"Very well. Then lets set this aside for now. How many of your staff made it aboard?"

"No idea." Jazz smiled humourlessly. "They've all been avoidin' me, if y'can believe it. Prowler - how many'd we lose?"

"Unknown. But less than fifty of the assigned crew made it aboard."

"Primus help us." Jazz muttered, shaking his head in dismay.

"There is a chance that our departure drew attention away from Iacon, giving those left behind the opportunity to find other shelter." Prowl offered. "Just because they're not here does not mean they necessarily perished."

"What's the probability on that?"

"Low. But it _is_ possible. Jazz, do you truly believe Elita One survived?"

"I dunno. The attack I saw didn't kill her, I know that much. But after that? Anythin' coulda happened. She'd be stunned a bit, at the least. But either she's dead or in hidin', so I don't guess there's much point rushin' back there now even if we could. Which it sounds like we can't. An' if we can't get movin' any faster soon then we're gonna be in just as much trouble ourselves. You're the mech with the plans, Prowler: what're we gonna do?"

Prowl let his doorwings slump a little.

"I don't know. I haven't had time to properly analyse our options."

"Then go do it. I'll take over as OIC. Better'n doin' nothin'. An' I don't think anyone's gonna play up with me on the bridge right now."

Prowl smiled faintly.

"No, I don't suppose they will. I'll be in the planning room. Call me if anything changes."

"Will do. Find us a way out, Sparkles. We need one bad."

Prowl nodded and walked away with outward confidence, but inwardly he wondered if there was any solution to find or whether this time he had finally run out of options.


	83. Part 15: Flight from Cybertron, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15, chapter 5 of 5

Optimus met the curious gazes of the junior medics as he stepped out of the private ward, and they all quickly glanced away. It was behaviour that would usually concern him but at the moment he knew the cause perfectly well and had no desire to pursue it. Ratchet had told him what little was known of what had happened immediately after he was knocked offline and had given him some privacy to deal with the shock, but he was now ready to do his job. His crew needed him to be strong for them. He would worry about Elita later, when the danger was past.

He would not mourn her in public until he was sure all hope was gone.

"Where are Jazz and Prowl?"

The question made everyone within hearing look at each other uneasily.

"Chief Jazz is on the bridge." one of the medics spoke up, not meeting his gaze.

Exceptionally peculiar to hear someone use Jazz's title, but he felt too numb to follow up on it now.

"Thank you."

He strode out into the main corridor which was echoingly empty other than a familiar red mech he had expected would be nearby.

"You're out! Did anyone tell you? Not that we know... slag, I mean she might..."

He kept walking, leaving Ironhide to hurry after him.

"I know." he said simply. "But there are other priorities for now."

"Chromia'll find her." Ironhide promised. "She'll be okay. She's tough."

"Until we know differently, I'll believe so." he agreed, not daring to let himself consider whether or not he believed his own words.

Ironhide said nothing more to him directly, muttering and cursing to himself, but it was still a relief to reach the bridge without any more attempts at sympathy. It was unusually quiet there given the tense situation Ratchet had described, and he saw several of the crew glancing between him and Jazz and away again. Strange.

Unimportant.

Jazz noticed him immediately and put down the report he was reading to walk over to him.

"Prime." Jazz nodded. "How're ya feelin'?"

"Fully repaired." he said firmly, hoping that would end any discussion on that topic. "What is our situation?"

Jazz took the hint with a slight nod of his helm.

"Messy. We're runnin' on three engines, missin' half our crew, an' the weapons systems got fragged up somehow. We got the _Nemesis_ leadin' the charge behind us along wit' seven other cruisers, but they're all just outta firin' range. So far we're holdin' our own, but only just."

"Plans?"

"We should go check in with Prowl for that. Codex, take over."

The TIC led them out, talking softly.

"Prowl's workin' on strategies to get us clear. We're still bein' chased. Only the _Nemesis_ is really a problem since we went through that asteroid field a few groons back, the others got left behind, but our weapons're glitchy an' we're one engine down so he ain't got much t'work wit'."

"He's working alone?" Optimus asked.

"Don't he always?" Jazz asked with a wry smile, then shook his head. "Smokey an' Breaker made it aboard an' were helpin' out t'begin wit', but they've got skills we need more in other places. Seems like both of them're makin' great assistants to the maintenance staff. How's it comin', babe?"

The planning room was awash with colour and sound, all of the tactical boards churning through complex calculations with ever-changing variables, and both of the large planning tables in use. Prowl was leaning over one of the tables as they entered, looking at a plan of the current solar system and testing course corrections.

"We are in trouble." he said succinctly without looking up or pausing in his planning. "Prime, I'm sorry to not have better news, but unless we can get engine four online in the next groon I predict that the _Nemesis_ will come within firing range before we have resolved our weapons issues."

"Is someone working on that?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded. "Every engineer an' maintenance bot we've got. Thing is, they weren't ready to launch yet, not for another orn."

"Sliderule neglected to mention in his reports that the engines were still undergoing final testing." Prowl put in. "Had we known, we could have held off on the move to Iacon until the tests were complete. Now, however, it is a moot point. It is unlikely that..."

Whatever he was going to say was lost as the ship rocked hard, jolting them all. The comms lines were instantly active, everyone checking in, and then a ship-wide announcement that made the four stare at each other in dismay: one of the three functioning engines had just exploded.

* * *

Sideswipe slapped his brother on the shoulder, nodding to him grimly, then checking his rifle again.

Things had gone from bad to worse to worst. Running had not worked after all: one of their engines had given out and the Decepticons had caught up to them. Right now the _Ark_ was being boarded and there was nothing any of them could do about it. Time to fight for their lives.

Reports from the bridge had announced sightings of Megatron himself on the _Ark_ along with a whole slew of Seekers, all approaching the starboard cargo holds. An alert came through that all of the doors had been locked down - the only way anyone was getting through to anywhere was by cutting through. A desperate measure, it meant that any Autobots were isolated where they were as much as it could possibly frustrate the Decepticons.

Sideswipe had expected there to be more instructions, some kind of coordinated unlocking to bring the various squads together to form a cohesive group, but there was nothing more. The comms had gone dead. Proof that Soundwave was close by; not good news.

Nothing to do now but prepare, and wait. And hope. But he would be really slagged off if it all ended now, like this.

"Don't be an idiot." Sunstreaker grunted. "We've survived worse."

"It's the others I'm worried about."

"They'll just have to look after themselves. Be ready."

"Sunny, you know me. I'm _always_ ready."

* * *

"I'm still connected to Blaster." Prowl reported, raising his voice over the unpleasant squealing of the planning room door alarm as Jazz tried another illegal hack on its lock. "He's not on the bridge, but Rewind can fit into the service duct between there and where he is, so they can relay messages. He says the Nemesis is trying to turn us around, firing off to our port side."

"That connection o'yours sure does come in handy at times." Jazz grunted, shoving at a buckled wall panel to get it to move just a fraction more so he could get to the internal wiring.

The problem, Jazz had explained, was not in getting the door open: any of them could do that very easily by using a command code. But if they did that and the Decepticons were monitoring the systems they might catch it. Then they would be able to use it on other doors. He could also hack the controls and force it to open, but there was no guarantee that it would then close again properly. Blasting it open as Ironhide had suggested was even worse.

The problem was finding a way to move around without giving the enemy an equal advantage and without compromising the door entirely in case they had to barricade themselves in here. And since Jazz himself had fiddled with this particular lock to ensure that Prowl's work area would always be secure, it was not the easiest of tasks to rush through.

"What's this?" Ironhide demanded, pointing to a symbol on the planning table.

Prowl glanced over at it.

"Space bridge."

"Is it active?" Optimus asked.

"Yes, but we don't know where it comes out."

"Does that really matter right now?" Jazz asked, pausing in his work.

"Get the pilot to head for it." Optimus ordered. "Do we have any weapons capability at all?"

"Not currently." Prowl reported after checking with Blaster.

"We've got mines." Jazz corrected him.

Prowl looked at him sharply.

"You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't know ya didn't know!"

Prowl bit back a retort about the need for _all_ data, no matter how superfluous it might seem, and focused.

"I'm ordering the pilot to go there and prepare some mines." he announced as he did so through his connection to Blaster. "We will set them just as we come through, then detonate them on a timer. Hopefully that will destabilise the bridge and trap some of the Decepticons on this side. They will know where we are since they have control of all the spacebridges, but we will have time to get away - assuming we can deal with the enemy already on board and can escape the collapsing bridge event horizon." He paused, waiting for a response, then nodded. "Blaster says we'll be through in a breem. He..."

He broke off sharply, doubling over as something intruded on the connection and spread crippling pain throughout his entire frame.

It felt like he had been dropped into a smelter, every sensor node overwhelmed, and there was raucous noise in his head loud enough to make him want to tear out his audials even though he knew that that would have no effect.

~ _ **GOT YOU.**_ ~

He screamed as the voice overrode the other noise... or at least he tried to. He could not even hear himself scream.

And then suddenly there was a pinching sensation at the back of his neck and it was intensely quiet, the presence gone along with the pain just as quickly as it had come.

Shaking, he tried to orient himself and realised he was down on the floor, Jazz leaning over him with a grim expression.

"Soundwave, huh? So much for your unbreakable code: you've been usin' it too long an' he's cracked it. You're lucky it's lasted this long. You okay?"

"What did you do?" Prowl wavered, grateful as Jazz helped him sit up and lean against a wall, giving him a moment to reset his equilibrium.

"Snapped your comm line. Ratch'd probably have a fit, but it's effective. Ol'Wave can't getcha from a distance if there's no receiver."

"Thank you. That was... unpleasant."

"From the way you were screaming, we kinda got that." Ironhide said gruffly, reminding him that there were others present.

"What about Blaster?" Optimus asked Jazz.

"Blaster can hold his own, Soundwave's had a go at him more'n once before. Prowler's just an easy target. Still, it means we've lost our contact wit'the bridge. So what now?"

The question hung between them with no answer.

Prowl struggled back to his pedes. He had no plan yet, but he had to find one. They were all relying on him. He was not entirely confident he could deliver, but he had to find a way. This was what he existed for, to find solutions in impossible situations, and he would not fail Prime now. Everything depended on him, and he would find a way.

Somehow.

* * *

Optimus stared at the tactical boards, trying to think of some solution to their predicament and having no ideas. Ironhide was restively checking and rechecking the settings on his cannons, standing right by the door so that he would be ready for when Jazz finally got it to open. Prowl, meanwhile had been standing silently for more than a breem, apparently running scenarios through his battle computer, and he finally stirred.

"Prowl?" Optimus asked. "You've thought of something?"

"There is one way." the tactician spoke slowly. "But it is desperate."

"So are we." Ironhide pointed out. "What've you got?"

"We get everyone to voluntarily drop into stasis, then have Teletran flood the ship with all of the _Ark_ 's energy reserves. Stasis will protect us, but anyone still active will be fried."

"That's high risk." Jazz shook his head. "Anyone who doesn't go deep enough'll still get caught in the wave. We could kill half our own crew."

"How will we even get the message to everyone?" Optimus asked.

"We send it out on an open channel across the ship."

"The Cons'll hear." Jazz warned.

"The Decepticons may believe it to be a trap, and not comply. Every one of them who does not follow the instruction will thin their numbers further."

"Are there no other options?" Optimus checked.

Prowl turned to face him solemnly.

"We cannot best them hand to hand. Their weapons are more powerful, they are more heavily armoured, they outnumber us and we are scattered throughout the ship. But just at this moment we hold an advantage. With all the doors shut they are temporarily trapped, just as we are. The jump through the space bridge means neither of us have any backup. We should be past that point now, and since it is not possible to verify the success of that manoevre we must assume that it went to plan. Our only viable action is to attempt to even the numbers, and the only effective weapon we have for that purpose is the _Ark_ itself."

"And what if we can't?" Ironhide demanded. "What if they all follow the instructions too?"

"More importantly, what of the Autobots who _don't_." Jazz growled. "What about the civilians? Primus, Prowl, we haven't got a count of who came along: there might be _sparklings_ on board!"

"We will lose them too." Prowl nodded grimly.

Ironhide swore furiously at that admission and Jazz shook his head tightly in disapproval. Optimus was no more happy with it than they were, but forced himself to think it through. The situation was simply that desperate.

"You're suggesting taking all of the _Ark_ 's power. We'll be drifting in space like a derelict."

"The risk is worthwhile."

"What if we crash into a star?" Ironhide snarled. "You'll kill us all!"

"Approaching even an old star would fill up the energy capacitors quickly, and Teletran would bring us back online. But regardless, the sacrifice is worth the cost. With Megatron and his command element gone there's a good chance of ending the conflict altogether."

"A comet or asteroid could hit us." Ironhide continued to rant. "We could hit _anything_."

"I repeat: the potential deaths of Megatron and the other Decepticon commanders are worth that price. Their simple absence from Cybertron from an extended period has its benefits, increasing the survival probabilities for those left behind. It is all we can do."

Optimus shook his head slowly.

"What happened to the CTO who swore to save every life?"

"I never made any such oath." Prowl corrected him. "I swore I would never be careless again, that I would never again propose a plan that risked lives unnecessarily. I have held to that: this option will save more lives than any other I can suggest."

"Prime, you can't do this!" Ironhide protested, but subsided when Optimus waved him to silence.

"Who are we sure are here?" Prime asked Jazz.

His TIC was still staring at Prowl intently but grudgingly turned his head and responded to the question he had been asked.

"Megatron. Soundwave. Starscream. The Contructicon gestalt. A few random others an' a whole mess o'Seekers."

"Not Shockwave?"

"Shockwave doesn't leave Cybertron for anythin'."

"Prime you _can't_." Ironhide choked.

Optimus put a hand on Ironhide's shoulder.

"My friend, it appears that this is the only thing I _can_ do at this point. Teletran!"

"Yes Prime?"

"Broadcast my words throughout the ship from the words _message begins_ until I say the words _message ends_ , then allow one breem to elapse before discharging all ship's power throughout the interior of the ship. When your energy stores have been replenished to 90%, re-energise all offline mecha aboard. Confirm."

"Warning: course of action risks deactivation of crew."

"Disable warning. Confirm instructions."

"Confirmed."

"Message begins. This is Optimus Prime. I am ordering you all to power down your weapons and settle into deep stasis lock. I repeat, everyone must power down all weapons and commit to deep stasis lock. Have courage, my friends, we will come through this together. Message ends." He paused, then slumped a little. "It is done. Primus help us all."

* * *

In the silence after Prime's announcement, Ironhide grumbled bitterly but began powering down his cannons. Prowl settled against a wall, opposite Jazz. A silence fell over the group as they began the sequence to force themselves offline, but Prowl caught Jazz's gaze as he set the final commands. His comm line was broken, but there was another way to make contact.

/If I'm wrong, I'm sorry./ he offered awkwardly through the bond, using it in a way they never had outside the privacy of their own quarters, and rarely even then.

/If you're wrong, you're still right./ Jazz allowed grudgingly. /Takin' out this lot is worth all our lives. An' for what it's worth: I was wrong. I shouldn'ta been plannin' t'leave ya again./

/Your arguments were sound./

/Sound, yeah, but not the truth. I ain't got that great a track record o'treatin' ya right, Sparkles. An' the idea of bein' stuck in some safe environment for centuries where I jus' had t'be _me_ scared me./

/I know. It worries me too. With no crises to handle, there's more risk I'll give away my lack of historical knowledge. But we will both manage, as we have always done. Because we have to./

/Yeah, we will. Charge safe, Sparkles, I'll be here when ya wake up./

Prowl's vision faded as he went offline, but he kept his gaze fixed on Jazz for as long as he could.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

_Epilogue_

The ship drifted through space, lifeless. It had been drifting for a long time, and the hull bore the marks of many impacts: the scars and hull tears left by space debris that had buffeted it this way and that, adjusting its course randomly.

Now, though, the ship had drifted too close to something larger, something with enough mass to pull it in. A planet, its surface heaving with unstable geological forces. By comparison the ship was tiny and its impact on the unstable crust made a barely noticeable impression.

Briefly, the raw energy of the surroundings seemed to give the ship some luminescence. But then soil covered it and magma flowed over it and time passed and it did not re-emerge on the surface.

It was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 15.


	84. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 1 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some squickiness with corpses ahead in this chapter and the next.
> 
> A/N: I've been vague about time units up until now, but since Prowl's going to muse over them in this chapter I thought I'd better give some translations.
> 
> Vorn = approx. 83 years ; Deca-orn = 10 orns (Cybertronian week) ; Orn = 13.8 days (Cybertronian day) ; Joor = approx. 6.5 hours ; Groon = approx. 1.6 hours ; Breem = approx. 8 minutes ; Click = approx. 0.2 seconds.
> 
> These are partly based on [a blog post](http://the-s-guy.livejournal.com/218847.html) by '[the_s_guy](http://the-s-guy.livejournal.com/)' from way back in 2006 and partly my own invention ;)

Prowl came online to a babble of voices and was confused. Where was he?

Activating his optics initially did little to orient him because there was no light source other than the dim optics of other mechs. He checked his internal chronometer and found it had reset, meaning he had no way of measuring how long he had been offline.

Next he checked his physical state. He was whole, if drained. His tank was completely dry and he was operating on bare minimal charge. This explained why all his processes were so slow.

Aware now of the problem, he spent a few clicks rerouting power from unnecessary systems and bolstering the critical functions. He was able to better focus and identified the voices around him as well as their location: a planning room on the _Ark_ , powered down and sealed off.

With him in the darkened space, judging mostly by sound since the light was inadequate to be certain and his non-light spectrum alternatives were currently offline, were Prime, Ironhide and Jazz. He stared gratefully at the warm light of his lover's visor, relieved that they were proximate in this dire situation, letting himself feel secure in that knowledge as his memory banks sluggishly yielded the details of how they had ended up here.

Anxiety washed through him. They had survived, but what of the Decepticons? Had the plan worked at all?

"Okay, I got the doors." Jazz announced abruptly. "Power's limited, but I'll just open every access I can an' leave'em that way til we figure out what's goin' on."

"If there are mechs near the airlocks without due warning..." Optimus began in alarm.

"We ain't in space anymore." Jazz assured him. "Dunno where we are, exactly, but Teletran's reportin' atmosphere: nitro/oxy mix. Won't do any harm. Th'gravity we've got right now ain't ship-run either, it's planetary. We're on the ground. Only question is, where?"

Before anyone else could argue, the tactical room door groaned and cycled tiredly open. Prowl felt a rush of atmosphere against his panelling, but the corridor beyond remained completely dark.

* * *

Jazz let the others debate what to do and slouched against the wall where he had woken up, needing a moment to recover. While all mecha were designed with hardcoded systems to keep them from literally working themselves to death, he had a set of thoroughly illegal overrides that kept him in control.

It was the kind of thing that caused the medical staff to throw fits - and tools, depending on the medic - but those overrides had kept him alive in far too many dangerous situations for him to give them up. Besides, _someone_ had had to open the doors or they would all have stayed trapped in here until they went back into stasis.

Finally a decision was made and his three companions worked their way forward cautiously forward with a great deal of clanking and apologising as they walked into each other, or walls, or tables, or other obstacles. Better charged they would have used their own altmode illuminators, but right now that was impossible.

Prowl glanced down at him as they passed, his form distinguishable from Ironhide's by the way that the glow from his optics reflected off the base of his chevron. Jazz would know him anywhere anyway, the bond making any confusion impossible, and he tilted his head back to look up at his lover.

"Tolja I'd be here when ya woke up."

He felt rather than saw Prowl's concern at his weary tone.

"Are you...?" Prowl began.

"Prowl!" Optimus called. "Are your doorwing sensors able to identify obstacles ahead of us?"

Prowl swept ahead, agreeing to try it. The trio shuffled onwards and Jazz slumped lower, reviewing his energy options. He was low, but not critical. That would quickly change if he did not find a power source soon.

Waiting until they had gone from sight and almost from hearing, he reached into subspace and pulled out an energon stick. It was selfish using this on himself; he should probably offer it to Optimus instead. But he only had the one and Optimus was a larger model and it would not do him as much good.

Deciding that it was time to stop thinking, he consumed it carefully. Disappointingly it appeared to have lost much of its charge - must have been a bad batch, he mused - but it was enough to bring him back up to roughly the same level of energy as he had been when he first roused a breem ago.

Glad, now, that he had not wasted it on Optimus for whom it would likely have done nothing at all, he levered himself up and shuffled after the others. Time to see what was going on.

* * *

Sideswipe shoved at a door that had stuck halfway, peering into the gloom. It was the forty-seventh such room he had searched and so far with no success, but this time things were different.

"Blue!" he cried, hurrying into the room beyond and gathering the Praxian in a firm hug. "About time we found you!"

"S-Sides? But... where am I? I thought... Why's it dark? Why's it so dark? I called out but no-one heard me and I couldn't get the door open and I was all alone and it was so dark..."

"We've crashed." Sideswipe told him, pulling the mech up and dragging him along the corridor.

It was important to get Bluestreak out into the daylight before it faded. Ratchet had made it very clear that anyone who fell back into stasis would have to stay that way until he had a fully functioning repair bay again, and that would take time.

"Crashed?" Bluestreak was babbling behind him. "Crashed where? Do we have to fight? I've dropped my rifle... Oh!"

Sideswipe grinned and turned to face Bluestreak as they stood in the entryway, just a few steps short of the bright sunshine.

"Pretty, huh? A real organic world."

Bluestreak's doorwings were twitching wildly.

"Organic? Where are we? I've never seen anything like _this_ before!"

"No-one knows." Sideswipe shrugged, tugging him forward. "But we're going to have to make the most of it: we're stuck here for now, that's for sure."

He gestured back and watched as Bluestreak gaped at the sight of the Ark almost completely buried under rock and dirt.

"Wow." the Praxian murmured. "Must've been some crash!"

"Guess that's what happens when no-one's piloting." Sideswipe shrugged, then they both turned at the sound of thudding steps, just in time before Sunstreaker grabbed Bluestreak and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Where were you?" the yellow twin demanded, then cut off any intended answer with a rough kiss.

"He'd never left the armory." Sideswipe answered helpfully, moving to join in, laying his cheek against Bluestreak's shoulder. "Should've guessed earlier, eh?"

"Next time," Sunstreaker growled, breaking the kiss, "you're staying with us."

"Um, okay." Bluestreak said dazedly.

They stood there for a moment and Sideswipe could feel the tension draining out of his brother now that Bluestreak had been found safe and online. Then abruptly Bluestreak jolted.

"Prowl! Is he okay? And Jazz! We've got to look for them..."

"They're fine." Sunstreaker told him, pulling away and leading the way to a collection of sunwarmed rocks that worked just fine as makeshift chairs. "Prowl's organising things with Prime, and Jazz's helping Hoist set up some energy collectors to make some basic low grade."

"Good thing they weren't around to see you kiss me like that." Bluestreak smiled, settling down beside Sunstreaker and pulling Sideswipe down on his other side so he was wedged between them. "Prowl'd have a meltdown."

"Probably." Sideswipe agreed. "But still, he'd be glad to see you're okay."

"I should go see him." Bluestreak mused, but Sideswipe held him down.

"Oh no you don't. Hatchet's orders. Everyone's to get as much sunlight as they can when they first come out. It doesn't last long here so make the most of it."

* * *

A groon after coming out of stasis Prowl leaned tiredly against a dirt cliff, reviewing the facts they had gathered. It made for depressing reading.

They had only forty-three known survivors from an evacuation of several hundred, and of those twenty-five were still in stasis and could fail at any time. Gears and Huffer were watching over them, monitoring them; a depressing but vital duty.

The _Ark_ 's well-appointed medical section was entirely inaccessible, too much debris between here and there. Given time they might get into that area, but for now it was enough of a miracle that Ratchet had been heading for the engineering section when the doors had been locked and always carried his toolkit with him: unless the Protectobot gestalt could be revived he was their only remaining medic.

Accommodation space was limited. There was simply no access to most of the _Ark_ , and they were having to convert what areas they could use into what they needed. Everyone would have to share living space as it was, and as more were brought out of stasis it would get worse.

To say that supplies were limited was almost laughable. No functional charging ports for the berths; critically low supplies of energon, essential fluids, replacement parts, raw materials and armaments. If they were forced to remain reliant on the on-board resources they would all starve or fall apart within a few decaorns.

But there the litany of depressing facts was leavened. This planet they had crashed on was energy-rich. No natural energon than they had discovered yet - neither in its volatile pure form nor as unstable solid ore - but there were other sources that could be converted with minimal effort.

Mere exposure to the solar radiation here was enough to keep them functional. Ratchet had ordered that everyone spend at least five joors an orn absorbing that radiation, an order that had slowed down every other task and which was trickier to achieve than it sounded. There were less than four joors in a full rotation of this planet, and almost fourteen rotations - thirteen point eight, to be precise - to an orn. Thus it was difficult to achieve more than a joor's worth of the best radiation at a time.

"Where could they possibly have gone?" Ratchet grumbled, rifling through his toolbox for something that was clearly missing.

Or perhaps just for the distraction from one of the largest gaps in their data so far.

"Seems likely they're still in stasis in the sealed sections." Wheeljack mused. "We've only got access to a tiny fraction of the ship's habitable areas right now."

"It would be helpful to understand why we were brought out of stasis at this time ourselves." Prowl put in.

The engineer and medic looked at each other, apparently having not considered that, then Wheeljack shrugged and lifted one hand to the sky.

"Changes in atmospheric conditions is my guess. Beachcomber'd be more specific but it looks to me like the Ark was completely buried until very recently. Perhaps as little as a vorn ago."

"That is hardly recent." Prowl frowned, flicking his gaze towards the nearest groups of mechs and confirming that they were too far away to be listening in to this conversation.

A full vorn of the Autobot command team spent in stasis could mean huge changes in the course of the war.

Wheeljack did not seem to hear him, caught up in his theory.

"A lot of the _Ark_ 's exposed energy collecting panels are faulty from lack of proper maintenance, but they would have gradually built up enough energy to provide us with an emergency supply to bring us out of stasis. Teletran 1 is programmed to do so, just as every Ship Computer is."

"Then why did we all rouse at the same time? Surely it should have been a gradual process?"

"Not necessarily." Ratchet grunted, closing his toolbox at last and subspacing it. "Teletran should have calculated the amount of energy required based on the crew numbers before using it. What worries _me_ is how long it's going to take for us to get to some of these others who are trapped."

They were silent for a few breems, enjoying the feel of warm heat on their panels from the sun, and the creeping sense of wellness that came with being slightly better energised. Then Wheeljack spoiled the mood.

"A vorn is recent compared to how long we have been crashed here." he commented. "Based on the mineral deposits on Teletran's outer panels, my first estimate would be a couple of millennia."

"That's ridiculous." Ratchet dismissed the suggestion. "No-one's ever been in stasis anywhere near that long - the reserves would give out."

The two old friends argued the point back and forth, but Prowl stopped listening. If stasis had failed, they should have encountered dead shells of the frames of the mecha who had deactivated yet there were none to be found. But there _were_ strange deposits of grit that should not have been able to enter the _Ark_ prior to the doors being opened. He had set that mystery aside for later consideration, but perhaps it was related?

Jazz had once told him a horror story about the Decepticons getting rid of the evidence of their victims by passing enough power through the shells to make them disintegrate on the spot. Given enough time, could the same happen? Or had the powdering been a side effect of the power Teletran had tried to give them all?

Feeling queasy, he rose and looked down at the other two.

"Where're you going?" Ratchet frowned at him. "You haven't had nearly enough radiation exposure yet."

"I have a theory as to how to find some of the missing but I will need your assistance, Ratchet. If you will excuse us please, Wheeljack?"


	85. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 2 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: squickiness with corpses, more explicit this time.

Prowl looked exhausted, Sideswipe noted as the second in command joined the group lounging around the entrance. Everyone there was trying to catch the last of the solar radiation for the day. They were all tired, but a bit of time spent out in the ultraviolet radiation emitted by this planet's sun - even filtered by the thick nitrogen-oxygen-carbon dioxide atmosphere - had done a lot to reinvigorate them. Prowl, though, had not yet been out of the ship as far as he knew.

"Have you found any sign of the missing?" Prime asked.

Ratchet stirred unhappily and Prime turned to look at him curiously, but Prowl responded calmly.

"We have searched every accessible corridor. It appears that several of the shuttles are missing, perhaps launched during an escape. It is possible that some set a timer on their stasis lock and were fortunate enough to revive long enough to refuel without requiring Teletran's assistance."

"I see. Ratchet? What of those in corridors we can't yet reach?"

Ratchet looked belligerent, but answered gruffly.

"If they were onlined by the power surge, they'll have returned to stasis by now."

"If they are in stasis, they can wait." Prowl suggested crisply. "We have much to do to simply accommodate those of us already active. A little more waiting will harm no-one."

Ratchet muttered something and turned away.

"Ratchet?" Prime called.

"I _said_ ," the medic snarled, "I'm off to find some cleanser to get this slagging _grit_ off my frame. Why doesn't someone fragging well clean it up!"

He stomped off and Prowl began organising cleaning crews. Sideswipe tried to slip away, but Prowl had seen him.

"You can help." he gestured him back. "Start here, and work back. We need all of these corridors clean before we start investigating issues with the _Ark_ 's wiring or we will risk contamination."

"All of us will need to lend a hand." Optimus agreed, moving to assist, but Prowl stopped him.

"If you are offering to help, Prime, there are other tasks that would be more useful. There is a shuttle left mostly accessible which would make a good temporary repair bay."

He guided Prime away, looking grim, and Sideswipe became suspicious. There was something Prowl was not saying - he knew the mech too well to be fooled. Sneaking after them, he found them stopped not far away down a nearby dead end hall. Initially Prowl was speaking too quietly for him to hear, but then Optimus choked and stumbled back against a nearby wall, staring intently down at the floor.

"You're sure?"

Prowl nodded grimly.

"Ratchet has confirmed it. With everything sealed and no power to the locks until Teletran recharged they could not have escaped, so unless they reinstated stasis their sparks would eventually have faded. The time lapse would have made their frames brittle, and the power surge that reenergised us simply powdered them."

Sideswipe glanced down himself, staring at the dull grey dust in horror.

"How many?" Optimus asked softly.

"There is no way to be certain. We have no accurate count of who was on board at the time, and there must be Decepticons amongst them too. Since we have thus far found no sign of them, we can only hope it is so."

"Who knows about this?"

"You, me, Ratchet. I'll tell Jazz, but beyond that I believe it sensible to restrict this information; it can only cause distress. There is nothing we can do to help those we lost, and we do know that some escaped: speculation as to who falls into which group is pointless. Jazz will be best placed of all of us to keep track of the morale of the remaining crew and act on rumour..."

Sideswipe slipped away again, now paying careful attention to where he was stepping, avoiding the larger drifts of dust. Sunny must _never_ find out what he had been walking in, or they would never hear the end of it. And he was going to have every speck of dust out of any space he intended to inhabit. Coping with corpses was one thing, but living in a base decorated with necrotic residue was something else altogether.

* * *

Jazz finished rewiring the circuit he had been working on and smiled as he saw the terminal light up. He was no maintenance bot, more accustomed to damaging systems than repairing them, but he was happy to lend a hand where he could.

Closing the access panel and subspacing his tools, he picked up the plassheet Bumblebee had delivered earlier when he had been too busy to look. It turned out to be a schematic showing the accessible portions of the Ark and space allocations - both public and private.

He noted first of all that everyone except Optimus was sharing space with someone, generally in spaces too small to comfortably accommodate those numbers. The minibots were probably the worst off, crammed into two adjoining rooms that had once been weapons lockers, but there were few options. It was a minimum of two bots to a room, and sometimes as many as four. Someone had put a lot of effort in to keep sparkmates together, but that did not necessarily mean privacy.

Spotting his own name, he was surprised to see only one other name in that location: Prowl. Their room was adjacent to Prime's, near the new temporary command hub, with Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack on the other side, and Ironhide sharing with Trailbreaker and Smokescreen across the hall. Then he did a double-take at the location and gave a soft laugh. By pure luck of the way the _Ark_ had landed, and the need for the officers to be secure _and_ close to where Prime was quartered, they had ended up back in the room that had been his when Prowl had first come aboard as a sparkling, all those vorns ago.

It was considerably smaller than the suites they had shared on the _Escaphalion_ and the _Beacon_ , and not nearly as luxurious as the one they had enjoyed here on the _Ark_ until the crash, but it was easily large enough for the two of them. Large enough for three, even if they put in a wider berth for the two of them to share, or for four if they added more bunks. Strange, then, that they had been given it all to themselves.

Walking across the hall to what used to be a storage room and was now Prowl's office, he paused to admire his lover's efficiency. Already the previous contents had been cleared and a desk set in place. A hardline terminal and planning table sat ready to be hooked up once there was enough power in the energy grid to run them, and wiring trailing from under the table and out the door suggested that he had managed to find a functional generator to use in the meantime.

"Did you need something, Jazz?" Prowl asked, kneeling on the floor busily sorting a small mountain of datapads into neat piles.

Before he could answer, Gears arrived with another crate full of pads. This got set down with a characteristic grumble but no explanation and the minibot stomped away again.

"Well?" Prowl prompted.

"You seen where we've been quartered?" he asked.

Prowl craned his neck upwards to spare him a brief exasperated glance.

"It may have escaped your notice, but I have been somewhat occupied. If the arrangements are not to your liking you should take them up with Trailbreaker, though I doubt you'll have much success altering them. Given the minimal amount of space available to us I would suggest you think twice before making complaints."

"It's not that. In fact..."

He was interrupted by Huffer and Windcharger hurrying in to deliver yet more pads.

"Where's all this stuff comin' from?" he asked, realising belatedly that it could not all be Prowl's.

Even Prowl did not usually have this many reports to write, and there was no access at all to either Prowl's office nor to the former Officers Hall.

"Closed off sections of the _Ark_." Prowl responded absently, shaking his head and dragging Windcharger's crate off to one side before beginning to search through Huffer's for something in particular. "Wheeljack found a maintenance hatch that has granted us access to some portions of the lower decks, but we cannot open it wide enough to accommodate large mecha, so the minibots are scouting it for us. They are retrieving everything of possible use, and bringing me all recording devices. Now, unless you are going to help me sort these out can you please go and find something useful to do."

Jazz left quickly, not keen on being caught up in that tedious task, and wandered down to the old navigation training room, now their only hub for direct access to Teletran 1 and thus the new command centre. Prime's office had been set up in the observation room off the main chamber, while on the other side the simulation control centre had been converted into Ironhide's security centre, Red Alert being one of the mechs still in stasis.

In the middle, Trailbreaker and Cliffjumper were trying to get one of the main input panels to work. With little success, he judged from their expletives.

"Not goin' so well?" he offered.

"No." Cliffjumper huffed. "It's not. What do you want?"

"Jus' the door code for m'room an' t'say thanks for..."

Trailbreaker shook his head.

"We don't have a code for that room. Red Alert was telling me about it back at Iacon. Before we left the _Ark_ there, it was your room, and the lock has been changed so no-one can get in. Even the maintenance workers at Iacon never got in. There was an ongoing bet on who would break it, but no-one ever did. And don't think they haven't tried."

"That's a bit unfair, mech." Jazz frowned. "What if I can't get in, either?"

"You're going to have to hope you can." Trailbreaker told him grimly. "There just isn't any other space unless the two of you shift in with Prime. I thought you were going to have to do that anyway before I remembered that it used to be your room and you might be able to... No, Jumper don't touch that!"

Feeling slightly less grateful for the allocation now that he understood why Trailbreaker had done it, Jazz headed back out towards the accommodation area. It could not be that bad, surely. After all, he did remember what the last code had been and he had done all the reprogramming himself. In all likelihood, he would have it sorted out in no time at all.

Rounding the last corner, he stopped in shock. The door was warped and battered from what looked like physical attacks, laser fire and heat blades. The locking mechanism was a tangle of wiring trailing halfway down the corridor, attached to three blackened datapads, two of which were still smoking.

Apparently this would take a little longer than he had hoped.

* * *

Prowl leaned against the wall, watching with weary amusement as Jazz muttered and grumbled over the tangle of wires around him.

"We've been here before."

His lover grunted, focused on his work.

"I've nearly got it. Just gimme another breem or two."

"Or ten." Prowl sighed, shaking his head at the mess. "You've been working on this for more than a joor. Take a break."

Jazz snorted.

"Now that's different. You tellin' me _I'm_ overworkin'."

"Mm."

Jazz cocked his head to the side, looking up at him finally.

"You okay, Prowler?"

Prowl twitched his doorwings, testing the air behind him. He could not sense anyone nearby.

"I fear I made the wrong choice." he admitted softly.

His partner rose, dusting off his hands and looking at him intently.

"'Bout what?"

Prowl gestured to the now dust-free floors.

"Maybe we should have fought. Maybe there would have been fewer deaths."

"Yeah, an' maybe it woulda been worse." Jazz pointed out. "Ain't like you t'second guess yourself like this. Has someone had a go at ya over it?"

"No, nothing like that." Prowl sighed. "But there are so many questions. How many of the missing are still trapped deeper in the ship, and how many are simply gone? And what of the Decepticons? Surely some of them must have followed Prime's order. They can't all have been killed, the probabilities are too low."

"If they're around, we'll find'em soon enough." Jazz said philosophically. "Way things are right now I'm havin' trouble even findin' our lot unless I go lookin' for'em. Where are they all?"

"Mostly resting, now. No-one has much energy, and the clean up has been draining. Even Optimus finally dropped offline a few breems ago, in spite of his insistence that he was charged sufficiently to work for another orn straight."

"Ratchet have a hand in that?" Jazz asked, amused.

"No, just simple exhaustion."

He pushed away from the wall and tottered a bit, grateful when Jazz stepped over to steady him.

"Looks like I ain't the only one who could do wit'a rest. Problem is where, eh?"

"Outside." Prowl told him, starting down the corridor. "It will be another orn or so before there's enough power in the ship to run the rechargers in any case, so for now we're completely reliant on solar radiation."

"Wouldn'ta thought it'd take that long."

"There are some complications. The Ark's energy panels need maintenance. Also, what little power we are gathering is currently being distributed across the whole ship, where most of it is wasted. Hoist and Gears are working on that, but it will take time."

"Time." Jazz mused. "Have we got time? Whoa, pretty."

They stepped out of the ship into a strangely orange glow. The light was reflecting off the cloud formations high above, making them appear to shimmer.

"Dawn." Prowl murmured. "The variable atmospheric conditions ensure the colouration is different each cycle."

"You mean this isn't your first break, after all?" Jazz teased, waving a greeting to Bumblebee as Prowl led the way up a narrow path to their left.

The path was steep, curling up the mountainside and ending on a wide ledge directly above the _Ark_ 's entrance.

"What I don't get," Jazz commented irrelevantly as they stepped out onto the ledge, "is why a one-track processored mech like your mentor would choose a designation like 'Prowl' for a strategist."

Prowl did not bother wondering what had caused Jazz to pick up on such an obscure topic, well accustomed to his lover's strange ways, and simply answered him.

"He didn't."

"What, you changed your name?"

"As though you're one to talk." Prowl retorted, seating himself against the cool rock and grimacing as he saw that static had made dirt and dust cling to his panelling. "But no, I never changed it. He simply never gave me one."

"Say what?" Jazz asked, settling down between Prowl's thighs and taking over the job of brushing clean his pedes.

"While there were only the two of us, there was no need to refer to each other by designation at all, colloquial or otherwise. Later, when we joined the Neutral enclave on Cassidara so I could practice pretending I was considerably older than was true, he told the others the Decepticons had corrupted my memory banks and that I could not recall it.

"Not many of them had much reason to speak to me or refer to me, so my full designation tended to be shortened to a sonic databurst and it was left at that. But when I intended to leave for Ovacalix, one of the femmes insisted on finding me a colloquial designation. She called me 'Prowl' because she said that in her dialect it meant 'determined', but her mate insisted it was because my systems ran so quiet I could sneak around and creep up on anyone."

"Determined." Jazz mused, pulling Prowl's now clean right pede safely into his lap and away from the ground, then turning his attention to the left. "Bet she was Polyhexian. Accent like Hide's?"

"Yes. So it does mean that?"

"Mm. Guess so." Jazz said vaguely. "Y'know, I never ask you enough questions about _you_."

"Indeed?" Prowl asked, letting his helm rest back against the rock. "And if you were to change that, could I reciprocate? You never did tell me what your given designation was."

"Who says it wasn't Jazz?"

"I do, based on the way you avoid answering the question every time I ask."

"Hn. Well, it just ain't important."

Prowl offlined his optics, feeling the first direct shafts of solar light warm his helm. Jazz wriggled a little in his lap, getting comfortable, then they sat in silence for awhile just dozing and enjoying each other's company. It was too good to last, though.

" _There_ you are." Cliffjumper exclaimed, startling him out of his doze. "I've been looking _everywhere_!"

"You coulda commed us." Jazz pointed out, adjusting his weight deliberately to stop Prowl from rising. "Wha'sup?"

"We've got the translator working finally. Prime wants everyone to download the conversion software and start using the local language as primary."

"Of course." Prowl agreed. "We'll be down in a moment."

"No we won't, it can wait." Jazz countered. "If everyone's gotta do it there'll be a queue. We can go in a bit, when it's not so busy. Thanks for the info, Jumper."

"Why the delay?" Prowl asked as the minibot disappeared back down the trail.

"Cause as soon as you get that data, you'll start workin' on detailin' the planet an' all that slag that goes on whenever we land somewhere new, an' I won't see ya for orns. An' I'm likin' the chance t'jus' be _wit'_ ya for a bit."

Prowl considered that for a moment, then relaxed against the rock again.

"Me too."


	86. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 3 of 6

The native sapient species - the humans, as they called themselves - were a concern, Prowl mused as he reviewed the notes he had gathered. It was not the first time Cybertronians had encountered organic species and interacted with those cultures, but this was the first time they had come across a single species made up of a range of disparate cultures that was in such a phase of transition.

There were a number of advanced organic societies who stayed on the fringes of the Cybertronian conflict but who had their own technologies and were occasionally willing to trade. There were others - mostly extinct now, sadly - who had been too primitive to cope with interference from outside their own sphere. Several times on record this had led to mecha being mistaken for deities and worshipped, or being seen as demons and attacked.

These humans, though, were neither one nor the other. They had begun down the path of scientific discovery, but it had come at the cost of their religious devotions and they were progressing ever further into methodologies that actually put their entire planet at risk while bypassing some of the basic necessities for stable civilization.

Their technology had developed sufficiently that they could effect mass transit over the surface of their planet, yet their extraterrestrial efforts were pitiful. They built communications networks powerful enough to connect every human on Earth and which broadcast many of their transmissions out into the ether, yet the usage rules were so convoluted that access remained limited and no consideration was ever given as to whether it was wise to be so 'noisy'.

It was sad. Their planet was suffused with energy sources, yet they gathered it via dangerous and wasteful methods and then squandered it on a tiny proportion of their population. The planet was overcrowded in some areas and desolate in others. Pollution levels were dismayingly high, and growing rapidly towards levels that would not bother the Cybertronians but could easily destroy most of the organic life here. Worse, the humans were actually aware of all this, debating it endlessly but doing little to resolve the issues. And all too frequently the concern over access to resources devolved into violent conflict.

He gazed at the data he had gathered thus far, wondering how blunt he should be in his report to Optimus.

The truth was that these humans were uncomfortably similar to their own race. The simplistic factionalism that existed now - Autobot, Neutral, Decepticon - blurred the truth that before the war their own society had been similarly divided. Mecha still commented on each other's accent - Iaconian and Praxian were considered 'good' by Autobots and suspicious by others; Vosnian and Kaonic, the reverse.

Models, too, were a source of division: military fliers; Praxian doorwings; minibots. Standard-sized bots generally considered themselves 'better' than smaller ones and 'smarter' than larger ones. Once the war ended - if the war ever did end without killing everyone in the process - it was inevitable that those differences would again come to the fore.

He shook that off for the moment: the war was far from over, and he had a report to complete.

Using native guides was essential, in spite of the fact that any such guide would always be biased. They needed someone to help them fit in with a minimum of disruption to others on this planet, though any advice must always be tempered by independent research. Thank Primus the humans had developed a primitive digital network to allow such research to be completed efficiently.

Optimus would not like it, but there would have to be some strict rules placed around interactions with the humans. For everyone's sake.

Working steadily for three days, he had just finished drafting the main report when Jazz interrupted him with a databurst of the new access code to their quarters.

~You finally got in?~ Prowl asked across the comm line.

~Yeah, all sorted. It's weird: the room's pretty much as I left it.~

~Then I strongly suggest you clean it up before I come in.~

~Ha, funny. You're taking a break soon, right? You're almost offline on your pedes. Ratchet's gonna reformat ya into a wall hangin' an' then who'm I gonna cuddle up to?~

~He will do no such thing.~ Prowl responded distractedly, then allowed a trickle of humour to slip into the exchange. ~His last threat was merely to wire my doorwings to my CPU so I shut down when they drop.~

~Ooh, can he do that?~ Jazz asked eagerly. "Just think what'd happen if they were more directly connected to _other_ places."

~Behave.~

~Mech, that's more'n I can do right now. We _finally_ got some private space available to us, an' I'm just lookin' forward to layin' ya out on a berth an' havin' my wicked way wit' ya, startin' wit' ya helm an' that gorgeous chevron...~

Prowl cut the connection sharply, but not before hearing Jazz chuckling at the predictable reaction. The visored mech was right, though. Both that it was time to rest, and that having some privacy was appealing. Regarding the work he had completed, he nodded to himself. It was enough for now.

He turned everything off - no sense in wasting the small reserves of power they currently had - then stepped outside only to find someone huddled on the floor opposite his office door.

"Bluestreak? What's wrong?"

The gunner looked up at him anxiously.

"Oh. Um, I'm supposed to be charging but Hoist and Grapple are both on duty and the room's so empty and I can't find the twins and I don't like being on my own and I knew you were supposed to be coming off duty so I thought just maybe you'd let me stay with you for a bit? Please? I'll be really quiet, you can even keep working or whatever, just please let me stay?"

So much for the anticipated intimacy, Prowl sighed inwardly as he reached out a hand.

"Of course. Come along."

Their accommodation was not far from his office - nothing was far from anything, anymore - so within a few clicks he was entering the code into the door and ushering Bluestreak inside. The lights were dimmed, Jazz dozing on the berth to the right. Bluestreak stopped abruptly, spotting him.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise Jazz was in here already, there really isn't room, is there, I should go..."

Jazz had startled awake with the first word but quickly regained his composure.

"Hey there Blue. I didn't know you were bringin' comp'ny, Prowler."

"Bluestreak has requested some company while he charges." Prowl explained, guiding their guest to the empty berth. "Lie down."

"But then where are you going to rest?" Bluestreak fretted. "These berths aren't very wide."

"There's room enough." Prowl assured him. "Lie down and plug in."

Turning back to the door to lock it, he pinged Jazz.

~Sorry.~

~Nah, s'okay. I still get t'cuddle ya.~

~And nothing more.~ Prowl told him firmly, walking over to the berth and settling on the edge facing Jazz with his doorwings hanging over the side.

Jazz was wedged up against the wall but he twined his legs with Prowl's, resting one hand not so casually on Prowl's outer thigh.

~No scandalising Bluestreak.~ Prowl reinforced the instruction as he reached for the charger cord.

~Sparkles, he's more'n twice your age.~

~And so are you, so you should have learned some restraint. Now be quiet and let me charge.~

* * *

~Prowl. Jazz. Report to command at once.~

Jazz jerked awake a fraction of a click before Prowl did and felt his lover jolt in his arms at the brusque summons. They had been offline less than a groon, his chronometer helpfully provided, and he shut that notification down with a silent snarl.

"Shh." he warned as Prowl struggled to alertness. "You'll wake Blue."

Prowl stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook his head and raised his voice.

"Bluestreak?"

The other mech stirred.

"Mm?"

"We have to go to a meeting. Will you be okay here?"

"I'll lock the door so no-one can get in 'cept for us." Jazz promised, sliding around Prowl to get off the berth.

"'Kay." Bluestreak mumbled, returning to charge.

Jazz squashed his envy and reached out a hand to help Prowl up, and they headed out, hurrying down the hall to find much of the currently active crew clustered around Teletran's display. Apparently they had missed something big.

"Good, you're here." Optimus nodded at them. "Teletran has just confirmed that there were definitely Decepticons roused by the same energy pulse that woke us."

Prowl immediately went up to the main terminal and began bringing up the relevant data, and Jazz shrugged.

"It was always a chance, boss, but there ain't none here now. We searched everywhere."

"We searched the ship." Prowl agreed, and Jazz fancied he could hear a note of dismay in his tone. "But Teletran's logs show someone leaving through the hole in the hull in cargo bay nine at approximately the same time as you managed to open the doors. Prior to that, there were several attempts to force open doors in that area, which mostly failed. We have not been able to access that part of the ship from inside, and we have not yet explored the area in detail so had not realised there may be more than one area of the ship exposed to the atmosphere."

He turned to face everyone, his expression calm but his doorwings swept tightly upwards.

"The last reports before the crash were from cargo bay nine. Megatron himself was said to be there, along with many of his elite."

"Megatron!"

The name bounced around the room in frightened whispers. Megatron was _here_? Bad enough that they were stranded, but to be stranded with the enemy so close?

"We have no fuel!"

"What about ammunition?"

"We're all going to die!"

"That's enough." Prime boomed, looking around the room until he got silence. "We've been in tight spots before, Autobots. We survived then and we'll survive now. Prowl, get started on some contingency plans. Jazz, we need data, get your team working. Wheeljack, we need more energy supplies for manufacturing. Ratchet, get on with setting up a repair bay, we may well need it. The rest of you lend a hand. Ironhide, you're with me, we're going scouting."

"No you are not." Prowl overrode him. "Everyone remains here."

Jazz grinned. It was always a slight shock to everyone when Prowl vetoed one of Prime's orders, perhaps because it happened so rarely.

"We are best to stay close to the _Ark_ for now." the tactician continued. "I will establish some patrol parameters shortly, but for now we are safest here."

"But the Cons know where we are!" Sideswipe protested.

"Yes they do. And yet we have seen no sign of them. We know they are out there and online, but perhaps they do not know the same of us. So long as that continues we have time.

"Also, we must be cautious of the native organic inhabitants. While individually they pose us no direct threat, we have already established that they can react violently when feeling intimidated or startled, and en masse they could cause us a great deal of inconvenience.

"Whatever the Decepticons are doing it has not yet drawn the attention of the organics, and we should follow that example as far as we can. Prime - if you'll give me three breems, I can have a briefing ready for the officers."

"You have them. In the meantime, I want everyone up and an ammunition count. We must be ready. Have courage, my friends: they have not beaten us yet."

* * *

Prowl's briefing was not what anyone had expected.

"You'd have us look like bumbling idiots." Ironhide growled, disgusted.

"Yes." Prowl confirmed. "It may well be the only way to ensure our survival, so that is precisely what I am suggesting."

"These organics aren't a real threat, surely." Optimus blinked, scrolling back through Prowl's report. "Their armour is soft and easily damaged. You were clear in your notes that we must take extreme care to ensure we do not deactivate one by accident - was this wrong?"

"No, but they are not to be underestimated, either. They have found ways to compensate for their frailties."

"So why not just clear this area of them and be done with it?" Ironhide interrupted again. "If they're a risk, lets just get them out of the way and get on with it."

"You're talkin' murderin' innocent sentients there, Hide." Jazz pointed out, gesturing to Optimus who was glaring at the red mech. "Ain't really our style, y'know?"

"I'm not saying we kill all of them, just get rid of the ones round here - give us some space. You know the Cons'll do worse, given half a chance."

"We are guests on their planet, Ironhide." Optimus intoned. "I will not discuss any such methods."

"Nor would they be effective." Prowl put in mildly. "They are numerous and reproduce quickly. A single human female can spawn a dozen offspring in quarter of a vorn, and while they require approximately as long again to reach maturity it would not take many vorns at all for them to replenish their numbers even if only a few were left alive.

"Additionally, while it's true that they're dependent on organic nutritional sources, they are adaptive far beyond our own abilities. Their records contain many examples of survival in conditions that should have been fatal. They have no natural weapons that can harm us, but they are very inventive, and several of the weapons they already use on each other could easily subdue a mech. Perhaps even kill one."

"Ha! They couldn't kill _me_."

"One couldn't." Jazz nodded. "But a hundred? Ten thousand? A million? Prowler's right: we're in trouble."

"Oh so _now_ you take his side."

Jazz folded his arms, frowning.

"You got somethin' you wanna discuss, Hide?"

"How about the fact that you tried to abandon us back at Iacon?"

"What's that got to do wit' anythin' here an' now?"

"Enough." Optimus growled, giving them both a quelling look until they both settled down, then turned to Prowl. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I am suggesting that we show the humans what they need to see to ensure they do not feel threatened by us. By simplifying our extant roles and downplaying all militaristic traits, we can protect ourselves.

"For example, my role in this army is as its senior battle tactician. If the humans were told that, they may not trust me, assuming that I am making plans that may harm them. Best that I be something far more benign, an administrative aide to the Prime perhaps."

"Prowl..." Optimus frowned.

"I do that job in any case." Prowl dismissed the argument before it could begin. "This can all be done within our current roles, we need only to be selective in which traits we emphasise. Ironhide, you and Optimus have been friends a long time, and you often watch his back in battle, thus an outward role as his bodyguard rather than his weapons specialist..."

"Hey!" Optimus protested.

"Easy, boss bot." Jazz grinned, patting him on the arm. "We all know you ain't helpless."

"The twins will need little coaching to conceal their specialities off the battlefield," Prowl continued, "and - though it pains me slightly to suggest it - should be encouraged to display their more creative sides."

"Ouch." Jazz grimaced. "You sure you mean that, Prowler? They'll really take you up on it, y'know."

"I know. But a little of that sort of chaos - within the bounds of avoiding anything that may harm the humans - will make us seem less threatening. That goes for you, too, for that matter."

Jazz gave him a wide grin and Prowl hesitated briefly before turning back to Optimus.

"This is possibly our only hope of survival, Prime. The humans have a long history of reacting in a hostile manner to anything they perceive as threatening, even each other, even when there was no overt threat. The dominant culture in the area where we are located are more peaceable than many, but it says a disturbing amount about them that one of their maxims is 'shoot first, ask questions later'.

"It is also questionable whether they are as inherently tolerant as they would portray themselves: it seems highly likely that a significant reason why they are not regularly caught up in the same conflicts as many others on this planet is that they have the largest military forces, an abundance of vital resources, and the best weapons."

"So you're saying we can't trust'em?" Ironhide checked.

"No, I'm saying it's in our interests to appear in some way inferior to them. We can do nothing to change our size or innate abilities, but permitting them to believe they are intellectually superior as they are over their own technologies will lead them to accept us as benign."

"Until the Cons find out we're here an' we whip out a few blasters." Jazz frowned at him.

"Which is why we must reinforce our image prior to that point." Prowl told him. "Battling against the Decepticons is inevitable, but that will be difficult enough without attacks from the humans to defend against as well."

He paused, glancing down at his datapad.

"It is likely that we will be able to begin to drop this pretence after only a few vorns. A single vorn is longer than the average human lifetime, so as little as two vorns may be sufficient to develop a level of trust that would see us safely able to gather the resources we need to return to Cybertron with the humans' assistance."

"Very well." Optimus agreed gravely. "Distribute the orders, and ensure everyone understands them. Our first order of business will be to identify some potential native guides. I'll expect some scenarios on how to do that within the orn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: and this, my dear readers, is my explanation for why the G1 'bots are such idiots. See, it was all part of a cunning plan :)


	87. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 4 of 6

Sideswipe looked at the memo being circulated and sighed. If these were the kinds of complications that regularly accompanied contact with organic worlds, he wished he had remained in stasis a few vorns longer.

" ' _Section 9.3'_ " he read aloud. " _'Gender. The humans have a basic dual division based on reproductive role that also affects their physical modelling. Reproduction is achieved through transmission of genetic material fram a male or 'man' to a carry type known as a female or 'woman'. Females are incapable of reproducing without contribution from a male, and males are incapable of carrying a new life...'_ Primus, do we really have to know all this slag?"

"Apparently." Bumblebee told him, sitting down nearby. "Gender's really important to the humans. They might get really offended if we get it wrong."

Sideswipe considered the image file attached to this section of the memo. Loading the file into his active processors would help him distinguish between male and female, and it was not a large file, but it was irritating. Surely they would not be on this planet for long enough for it to matter?

"You've been assigned lead contact." he commented, ignoring the problem for the moment. "How'd that happen?"

"It had to be someone from the ops team, and I volunteered." the minibot shrugged. "Sounds like fun, anyway."

"Speaking of fun," Smokescreen joined them, "can you believe Prime's actually _sanctioned_ the prank war?"

"It's got to be a trap." Sideswipe mused, then raised a hand to wave. "Hey Jazz, come and sit down. What's the story with the pranks? Prowl and Prime didn't really mean they'd ignore it, did they?"

"Well they never said they'd _ignore_ it, no." Jazz allowed, settling on the arm of the couch. "But they've agreed it'll make us look more friendly and less like serious soldiers."

"And in exchange?" Smokescreen prompted.

Jazz cocked his head to one side, as though unsure what he was being asked. Sideswipe snorted.

"Yeah, you must've drugged him with something _good_ to get him to fall for this. And he's really going to get you when he comes out of it."

Jazz smirked, leaning back and sipping his energon.

"Gimme some credit, Sides. I didn't drug'im at all. Just... _persuaded_."

He winked, then rose and ambled over to another group to chat. Smokescreen shook his head.

"Never can tell when that mech's being serious."

"Trust me." Sideswipe considered, thinking about the contrast between the mech laughing merrily at something Tracks had just said and the mech who had put Sunny in his place when they left Iacon. "When he's being serious, I think we'll know."

* * *

Prowl looked at the mech who had entered his office and closed the door. The form was different, but that was expected.

"I thought you had gone already."

"We'll be gone soon." Jazz nodded. "Hound an' Raj're just choosin' their new alt modes. Whaddaya think o'mine?"

"Are you happy with it?"

"That's what I'm askin' _you_ , mech."

"Why should I have any objections?"

"Because I know y'ain't keen on me bein' in other forms. I looked for somethin' I liked but which wouldn't mean too many changes. So whaddaya think?"

Prowl stared at his mate in confusion for a moment, then realised why Jazz seemed so uncomfortable and began to laugh.

"It's good t'hear ya laugh, but that ain't exactly the reaction I was after." Jazz muttered. "So?"

Prowl let his chuckling fade away, rose and put his arms around Jazz's waist - a slightly more bulky waist, now - and leaned in for a kiss.

"There are times, Jazz, when you simply amaze me." he smiled.

"Say what?" Jazz asked blankly.

"What I dislike about your sorcelled forms is that they're not you. You're pretending to be someone else. This... this is you. Somewhat different, but still my Jazz. Yes, I'm fine with it."

Jazz's nervousness had vanished by the time Prowl stopped speaking and the mech pouted.

"Slag. An' now I've gotta head out before I even get a chance to see what you'll choose."

"You'll see it soon enough. Come back safe."

"It's only recon." Jazz reminded him, stealing another kiss, then heading out.

"I've been told that before." Prowl murmured to himself, then shook off his momentary concern.

This mission was not dangerous and Jazz could take care of himself. Right now, there were other matters for him to focus on. Like getting the entire crew to select their new alt modes.

* * *

"Ooh, I like that one." Sideswipe enthused, bringing up the specifications for the form he had selected. "Hey Sunny, look at this. Nice, yeah?"

"Didn't Prowl say we should stick to vehicle models available on this continent."

"There're Lamborhinis here." Sideswipe dismissed the concern. "See? Two hundred and fourteen registered owners just in this section of the continent."

"It'll do, I suppose." Sunstreaker conceded, sounding reluctant although Sideswipe knew his brother was secretly interested.

"Okay well if you've picked then download and get out of the way so others can have their turn." Ironhide told them. "Perceptor, just hurry up, will you? This is taking forever already."

"Wouldn't be so bad if we had more than one functioning terminal." Ratchet grumbled.

Sideswipe stepped away from the terminal, letting his alt mode software assimilate the new data and prepare the transformation sequence. When it was ready, he moved to the back of the room and initiated the sequence.

"Wow, nice choice, Sides." Smokescreen approved. "Wish I'd seen that one."

"It wouldn't work with your configuration anyway." Ratchet huffed. "I'll say it again: any of you glitches stuff up your conversion and you're going to be stuck like that for a very long time. I don't have the equipment or parts to untangle a bad transformation and I'm going to be in a very bad mood if I have to try."

"We got the message already, Ratch." Ironhide sighed.

"None of these seem like good options." Perceptor was telling Wheeljack. "I've never had a vehicle mode."

"But you have the programming for it."

"Perhaps, but I'm entirely disinterested in making such an adjustment for what seems likely to be a very short-term situation."

"So pick something else." Wheeljack suggest. "There are so many possibilities."

"How does it feel?" Sunstreaker asked, bringing Sideswipe's attention back to his own new alt mode.

His brother had been pacing around him, inspecting the new mode from every angle, and - to Sideswipe's experienced view - was warming to it.

"Pretty good. Strange not to have hovers, but the form's okay. Friction'll slow us a bit, but the aerodynamics'll help. Come on, download and lets go give it a go."

He headed for the door, only to find it blocked by Prowl.

"There will be no alt mode use inside the ship." the SIC intoned firmly. "There is little enough room for movement here as it is. And if you are intending to go outside, remember to stay within view of the entrance."

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Sideswipe sighed, resuming his root mode. "You gotta admit it's got pretty nice detailing."

"Very stylish." Prowl nodded dismissively. "Please attempt to maintain it that way."

He headed past Sideswipe toward Teletran's terminal, and Sideswipe saw that Bluestreak had been standing behind the black and white mech. While Ratchet started in on Prowl about selecting a form appropriate to Praxian requirements, Sideswipe grabbed Bluestreak's hand and dragged him out into the corridor.

Posing dramatically, he looked for the other mech's approval.

"So? You like it?"

Bluestreak's doorwings were twitching sharply.

"I do, I really do. You look really good, both of you. I hope I can find something that looks okay, though it won't be anything like what you've found - these sensor panels can make things so difficult sometimes."

"They've got their uses." Sunstreaker pointed out, trailing one hand across the top of one doorwing.

Bluestreak slipped out of his reach, shaking his head.

"We can't go starting anything here - Prowl's just in the next room!"

"Shame." Sunstreaker shrugged.

"So why not come outside with us?" Sideswipe asked. "Prowl's going to be busy here for awhile, he won't miss you."

"No, I'd better not. I haven't got an alt mode yet, and anyway I said I was going to go look at the new firing range Ironhide says he's setting up. But later, maybe?"

"Sure thing." Sideswipe agreed easily, looking to his brother. "Race?"

Sunstreaker transformed.

"Go!"

Sideswipe changed back, revving his engine and enjoying the feel of slick metal under his wheels as he peeled away to the sound of Prowl's reminder not to use alt modes inside.

Silly mech. He had said they could disobey. This was just the beginning.

And oh, this was going to be fun.

* * *

With the crew so small and only one functional entrance to the _Ark_ , there was a large audience to witness Jazz's return. Bumblebee drove out to meet him, and Bluestreak joined them as they made the final turn. By the time he reached the entrance and transformed, Optimus was waiting for him.

"You haven't brought Mirage and Hound back with you. I assume that means you found the Decepticons?"

Jazz tilted his head to the side.

"You sure you don't wanna go inside t'talk about this, boss?"

"I think everyone should hear what you have to say." Optimus replied. "It affects all of us, after all. Sideswipe, Windcharger, go and find the mechs still working inside. We'll all hear this report together."

Jazz shrugged and found a boulder to lean on, watching as the others gathered. Prowl was the last to arrive, emerging with Huffer and Grapple, apparently mediating a lively discussion between the two.

"Is this disruption necessary, Prime?" Grapple complained as they approached. "There is so much work to be done."

"It's important for us all to know what the Decepticons are doing." Optimus told him, then looked to Jazz. "So lets hear your report, Jazz."

Jazz rocked back a little, choosing his words with care.

"Well, we found'em." he said finally, watching the various reactions but not pausing for them. "They ain't all that far from here, even. They've set up a temp'ry base above a rich ore deposit an' they're minin' it."

"What for?" Trailbreaker wondered.

"Like any Decepticon really knows how to mine." Brawn scoffed.

"They're probably building a bomb to kill us all." Gears predicted morosely.

"Actually, they're jus' tryin' t'get off planet." Jazz responded to the last comment.

"Why don't they just fly?" Bluestreak asked.

"Not all of'em are aerial models, an' even the one that are ain't necessarily set up for long distance travel.

"Who is present?" Prowl asked.

Jazz met his partner's gaze soberly. He saw what Optimus was doing, sharing information so that everyone understood what was going on and didn't panic over speculation, but no-one was going to like hearing this.

"Megatron." he began with the one they all feared most, but continued over top of the alarmed comments that immediately started up. "Soundwave with at least four of his cassettes. Blitzwing and Astrotrain. The whole Constructicon gestalt. Starscream and his trine. They're the best known, and then there's a whole mess o' Seekers and random others. In total we counted thirty-seven, not includin' the cassettes, an' there could still've been others deep down in the mine."

There was an uneasy silence as the bad news sank in.

"They outnumber us." Hoist said finally, breaking it.

"Even if they didn't, how can we fight againt their best?" Gears moaned.

"I'll give it a shot." Sideswipe growled, fists clenched. "Just show me where to go."

"You're not going anywhere, Sideswipe, so just calm down." Ratchet told him. "We're not going to try attacking them. Right, Prime?"

Optimus had not moved his gaze from Jazz.

"Are they aware of us?"

"Don't seem like it. Their conversations, what we heard was all grumblin' about bein' stuck here an' lookin' forward t'goin' home. Shouldn't take them long t'finish buildin', either. A few orns, maybe. Looks like they've stolen a whole lotta functional parts from the hold as well as takin' one o'the missin' shuttles. Mostly they just need t'build a box t'travel in an' they'll be gone."

"Gone where?" Perceptor asked. "We have no idea where we are. The constellations above bear no resemblance to any in Teletran's memory banks, even when rotated to give other angles of display."

Jazz shrugged.

"So long as they're leavin', do we care?"

"A few orns, you say?" Optimus mused.

"A decaorn at most. They're workin' fast."

"A decaorn is not long to have to remain confined here." Prowl considered. "Particularly if short-term prudence leads to longer term security. I recommend that for now we allow Jazz's team to continue with surveillance, and everyone else remains close to the _Ark_ as we continue to fortify ourselves here."

"Agreed." Optimus intoned. "Alright. Lets get back to work."

* * *

Last to arrive, Prowl settled down on a sunwarmed boulder just out of armsreach of his mate. From here, they could see anyone approaching from any angle for a great distance, which gave them some security for the debriefing that was about to occur.

They had waited a groon after the public meeting, then Optimus had headed out here chatting to Ratchet. Jazz had slipped away at some point, too. Prowl had lingered near the _Ark_ for awhile, ensuring that everyone was suitably occupied and that Ironhide and Perceptor were keeping an optic on the most likely troublemakers, then finally followed.

"So." Optimus said slowly. "What else did you discover that you didn't feel the crew needed to know at this stage?"

"Nothin' certain, but a lot o'weirdness. I dunno what t'make of it, but it might be important."

"Such as?" Prowl asked.

"Screamer's goin' berzerk. He wants off this planet, an' the sooner the better. First off we thought it was some kinda act, but he's serious. The Air Commander loves to give orders but never works all that hard himself unless there's somethin' in it for him, but he's drivin' the construction onward an' even helpin' out personally.

"The Cons're all curious about what he's up to but he ain't sayin' much an' what he does say ain't very convincin'. Fact is, it seems like there's somethin' on this planet that scares him. Which means he knows where we are. Somethin' we don't. It might mean we're closer to home than we thought."

"Unlikely." Prowl disputed. "Perceptor has done some very careful plotting of the constellations and assures us we are well outside the explored regions."

"What about Megatron?" Optimus asked. "How is he reacting to Starscream's behaviour?"

"Ah, well that's interestin' too. Looks a lot like ol' bucket-head's taken some damage somewhere along the line. Starscream'd probably take advantage of it, 'cept for the fact Blitzwing an' Astrotrain an' Soundwave're stickin' close t'their leader."

"What sort of damage?" Ratchet leaned forward, curious.

"Somethin' t'do wit' his processor, I'm guessin'. We saw Hook fiddlin' about under his helmet, an' it didn't look like it was the first time. We _also_ saw Megsy fly into a rage over nothin' at all an' lay in to Reflector. No-one seemed all that surprised about that, either."

"You're saying Megatron has gone insane?" Optimus summarised.

"Great, just what we need." Ratchet groaned. "He was crazy enough already."

"Not like this." Jazz warned. "His own mechs don't seem t'know what t'do wit' him. An' if Screamer weren't so slaggin' keen t'jus' get away we pro'lly woulda had a change o'leadership by now."

"Which brings us back to Starscream." Prowl mused. "What about his trinemates? Are they also agitated?"

"Not in the same way. They seem t'think he's gone as crazy as Megatron an' are jus' tryin' t' stay outta the way."

"Ah."

Optimus looked at him curiously.

"What are you thinking, Prowl?"

He met his leader's gaze, but considered for a moment longer before responding.

"Curveball's agent Nox reported that Starscream had been someone else in a different frame before designing the Seekers and beginning to populate their ranks. It seems that his trinemates were not with him prior to that point."

"Which helps us how?" Jazz asked.

Prowl shook his head.

"Not at all at this stage it's simply another piece of data, if an intriguing one. What is more pertinent is that once Starscream is away from whatever here disturbs him, he will re-focus. And given his previous attempts at overthrowing Megatron, and Megatron's current instability, this time he may find some support. He may, in fact, succeed."

"That won't make us any safer." Ratchet pointed out.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no." Prowl considered. "It does make it even more critical that the Decepticons remain unaware of our presence here. Starscream has always been focused on attacking Prime, far more so than Megatron who has wider conquest goals in mind and would prefer that Prime survived to watch the destruction. In other words, Megatron intends to demoralise us before crushing us, while Starscream simply wants to kill our leader."

"Which we don't want." Jazz reminded him.

"That is what I am saying." Prowl nodded. "It is imperative that we remain unnoticed. Prime, with Megatron in command, the Decepticons are unlikely to return here anytime soon. They have no need to. But if Starscream is in control they will almost certainly return simply to confirm that you are dead, and if there is any sign of our survival he is just as likely to destroy the entire planet just to get to you. Particularly if something here is so distressing to him."

"What I don't get is why he's so upset by this place." Ratchet complained. "We haven't seen anything dangerous here. And even if we had, what would scare someone like him?"

"It's troubling." Prowl agreed, frowning. "Jazz, I assume you've left both Hound and Mirage watching?"

Jazz simply nodded, and Prowl continued.

"What chance is there that we could get a copy of their flight plan?"

Jazz shrugged.

"We'll give it a go."

"Don't do anything that would put anyone at risk." Optimus instructed him. "What's most important is that they leave."

"Agreed." Ratchet nodded. "Now if that's all, I'm heading back - I've got things to do."

He transformed and headed off, Optimus following, leaving Prowl alone with his mate.

"You're heading back out?" he asked.

"Not quite yet. We're gonna handle it in rotation."

"I see."

Jazz smiled and rose.

"You made a nice choice. Alt form's a bit plain, but those lights're nice. They suit ya."

"Thank you." Prowl nodded graciously, standing up and looking over his shoulder at his mate. "Could I interest you in examining them in detail? Perhaps in our quarters?"

Jazz laughed and transformed.

"Lead the way, Prowler, I'm all yours."


	88. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 5 of 6

"Hold up." Ratchet interrupted, tapping at his helm meaningfully. "Jack needs some help."

Taking advantage of the brief pause, Optimus took a moment to simply admire the simple familiarity of the space around him. Only joors earlier this had all been inaccessible, stuck behind a thick layer of dirt and former lava flow that had seeped in through a hole in the hull. But after some effort with Sideswipe's piledrivers and a few carefully placed explosive charges (Wheeljack kept well away) with Grapple and Hoist directing efforts they had regained access to a long stretch of corridor.

Unfortunately that corridor housed nothing more than a set of storerooms filled with a range of low-priority materials but Grapple had been undaunted and had immediately set about converting the first of those storerooms into their first secure meeting space large enough for more than three of them at a time.

Prowl was clearly very pleased by the thoughtfulness of the architect; Jazz and Ratchet were clearly less enamored of the idea, and both had been quite vocal in their dismay when within a groon of power being restored to the room they had all been summoned for the first proper command meeting since the crash.

The room had been completely emptied of whatever its previous contents had been and a large conference table had been hastily welded together out of a few mismatched sheets of former decking. The benches that had been constructed were much more sturdy if just as rushed, and were comfortable enough for now though Optimus hoped they would eventually be replaced by proper chairs. He valued Prowl's skills but sometimes the mech's reports could be tediously detailed.

Still, in spite of the rough nature of the furniture, this space was a balm against the relentlessly _alien_ nature of their current surroundings. For now, at least, it was clean of dust and dirt, his command team were seated in their usual positions around a table, and Prowl had even prepared datapads with an agenda. It was sparkwarmingly normal, and it made him feel...

...homesick.

The reality of their situation was finally sinking in. They were trapped here. Unlike the Decepticons who were mostly fliers and really only needed something to use as a base, it would take them many of this planet's rotations around its sun to construct even a basic transport vessel which was suitable for their needs. On top of which, the worst of their enemies were still alive and could very well return without warning. They were going to be forced undercover, into a deception to placate the native organic species - _humans_ , he reminded himself - and if it did not work they could find themselves trapped inside a new war altogether.

It was true, they had been planning to hide away on some distant planet for a century or two. But not on a world where there was an existing race to compete with. And not without so many of their colleagues and without basic supplies. They were generally a resourceful group, but this was stretching that point too far for many.

As they did so often of late, his thoughts drifted to Elita. Had she survived as Jazz had believed? Had Megatron's absence given her the chance to escape to safety? And if so, just how long had she been waiting for him while he had been in stasis? How would he ever find her? All he knew for now was that he would never stop looking until he was sure, and yet how could he be certain when she could just as easily have been turned to dust by time as the mecha who had died here?

Reaching inwardly to the Matrix he tried to find some answers, but all he received in return was a sense of anticipation; neither positive nor negative. Which could mean anything at all.

He sighed softly to himself, returning his attention to Ratchet who was now shaking his head.

"Alright, carry on. He's fine, a few dents won't hurt him."

"Wheeljack, or his patient?" Optimus asked wryly.

Ratchet smirked.

"Well if Tracks is going to go racing he's going to end up with dents, and he can wait until I'm free to deal with him. Now what were you saying about a new repair bay?"

"It will take several orns to fabricate even the basic equipment but this corridor would be the idea place to situate it. It is only accessible from two directions and each of these rooms have functional locks once we restore full power."

"What else're ya gonna put down here?" Jazz asked, bringing up a schematic on his datapad and shading where Prowl had earlier indicated three rooms closer to the entrance for conversion into a recreational space.

"That has not yet been determined, though I have had a request for laboratory space which..."

"Oh no." Ratchet overrode him. "Not near my bay. I'm not having Jack blow it up just when we're getting some normality back!"

"I would not suggest that we situate Wheeljack under the centre of the mountain." Prowl said mildly. "He is preparing a space for himself nearer the holds. I'm sure, however, you will find it useful to have Perceptor nearby."

Ratchet grunted, mollified, and Optimus shifted the topic.

"What supplies were located in these rooms?"

"Very little of immediate value. Packaging material, coils of narrow diameter flex tubing, jetpacks, paint, stacks of blank datacubes which have unfortunately become corrupted..."

"Did you say jetpacks?" Jazz asked. "Are they workin'?"

Prowl consulted his notes.

"Wheeljack said they were fully functional but very low on charge and we have no method to charge them. He estimates that with constant use each would function for approximately two groons with in this atmosphere."

"Is that important?" Optimus asked.

Jazz shrugged.

"Might be. Might not be. Depends on how bad you want that flight plan."

Prowl frowned at his mate.

"Not sufficiently for you to risk being captured at this stage. I assume you are contemplating sorcelling into a Decepticon form and flying in with a jetpack."

Jazz simply grinned but Prowl was continuing.

"The probability of failure is too high."

"I agree." Optimus said firmly. "For now, our goal is to remain hidden. Prowl, how is progress coming with the tunnel through to the holds area?"

"Slow but steady." his SIC responded promptly. "It will take approximately two more orns at current pace. The minibots are undertaking most of that work but are frequently forced to stop and reinforce their efforts because the volcanic rock is porous in places and crumbles easily. Wheeljack has developed an adequate cement mix using local materials which he believes should last approximately a vorn, which is long enough to come up with a more long-term solution if we are still in habitation."

"Remind me why we're going around the ship instead of through it to get there." Ratchet asked.

"Primarily because it is quicker." Prowl responded. "There will be time later to force our way into other sections of the _Ark_ but this ship was designed to make it difficult for our enemies to do that very thing. The closed doors successfully trapped them within the holds during our flight and if Jazz had not been able to get so many doors to open so early we would all have no doubt collapsed again in the corridors before discovering that we had even made planetfall."

"Well mechs, if we've covered the main bits I'd better go take my turn out Con watchin'." Jazz said, rising.

"Report in if there's any change in their activities."

"Course." Jazz agreed.

"Very well." Optimus nodded, also keen to be back out of this room. "Meeting adjourned."

Prowl frowned.

"We still need to discuss the native guides."

"Well we can do that as easily while inspecting the progress." Optimus told him.

To his relief, Prowl nodded in acceptance of that suggestion, then he smiled wryly to himself. Supposedly he was in charge of this army. Sometimes it did not feel that way at all.

* * *

"Ideally it would be a local official, someone with some standing in the community." Prowl mused as they headed out of the meeting room, Ratchet moving away in the opposite direction. "It was one of the reasons I selected an Enforcer-style model for my alt mode. If we can first gain their trust, carefully selecting who to speak with, we have a very good chance of doing this successfully."

"I thought you said humans tended to be irrational." Optimus pointed out.

"Humans in groups will tend towards fear as a first response, but individuals will often deal with stressful situations with more resiliance than might be expected and if those individuals are charismatic or already have some authority, they can sway others."

"I would like to avoid having you away from the Ark for long periods if at all possible, and I had also understood that Bumblebee was to be our lead contact." Optimus mused.

"There is no reason why he cannot scan a similar form." Prowl dismissed the concern. "I had not intended to take over this role myself: I sincerely doubt I have the required social and diplomatic skills to do so. In fact, Jazz has already been working up scenarios with his team to identify the correct guide. Once that is done, it should be a simple matter to have Bumblebee take the place of the mech's vehicle."

"And if the vehicle is not a form suitable for Bumblebee's size?"

"Jazz assures me that difficulties will be experienced with every vehicle until an appropriate one is in place." Prowl told him drily. "I have specified that they do nothing to put any human at risk of harm or that can be traced back to us, and beyond that I do not wish to know the details."

"A wise choice, I suspect."

"Which is almost precisely what Jazz said." Prowl smiled faintly, then felt a ping come through from Smokescreen.

~Prowl, you'd better come to the rec room.~ Smokescreen warned on an open channel.

~Is it urgent?~

~It will be when they wake up.~

Frowning at the cryptic message, he changed direction, Optimus still walking along with him.

Reaching the rec room he found the doorway blocked by several of the crew and pushed his way through until he could see what they were staring at. Specifically, Brawn, Warpath and Cliffjumper all stuck to the high ceiling. All three were currently offline, apparently having been abducted while recharging, but that would not last long.

Prowl scanned the crowd and was unsurprised to see that two tall forms were absent.

~Ironhide - go and find Sideswipe and bring him here. The rest of you carry on with your duties unless you intend to help. Optimus, can you see what is holding them up?~

They were above the Prime's head, and out of his reach, but he was the tallest present. Unfortunately he simply shook his head.

~It might be magnets, it might be adhesive.~ he admitted unhelpfully, then added on a more private channel. ~You believe Sideswipe managed this? How?~

~I have no idea, but it does reprioritise my list of uses for any new vacant spaces.~

~In what way?~

~It seems that we are going to need a brig. Sooner rather than later.~

* * *

"Slagging twins." Cliffjumper swore, rubbing at his back where the paint had been stripped by the powerful adhesive that had been used to pin him to the ceiling of the rec room.

Hoist had assured him that they had plenty of paint, he just had to figure out where the right colours were. Sunstreaker had been assigned to do the colour matching, which was irritating but would at least result in a good job; Sideswipe, protesting his innocence, was now scrubbing the _Ark_ 's solar panels under close Ironhide's supervision. The red twin insisted that it must have been Jazz who pulled this prank and complained that Prowl was biased when he would not even consider that option.

His protests had died down somewhat when Trailbreaker had reported seeing Sideswipe carrying an offline Warpath through the corridors a little earlier.

Not that Cliffjumper had been in any doubt. Sideswipe was always causing trouble, and he particularly liked picking on minibots. What other proof was needed?

"Stop thinking about it." Hauler suggested. "Just enjoy the drive."

"Enjoy it." Cliffjumper said sourly. "Sure. When I've got bare panelling exposed to the atmosphere. Those slaggers need to be taught a real lesson!"

"Prowl caught them."

"He won't really punish them, though. Not so they'll stop. They should be put into stasis for a few vorns to let the rest of us get on with things in peace!"

The other minibot stayed silent, and Cliffjumper was grateful for that. He didn't really want the two warriors put into stasis - they were great on the battlefield and could be a lot of fun when they were directing their mischief at others. He was just sick of being their target.

"Hey, where're you going?" he asked, startled as Hauler began to turn.

"This is the border." Hauler pointed out. "We're not supposed to go past here, remember?"

"Aw come on. There's nothing out here."

"Except the Decepticons."

"They can't be this close to the _Ark_. If they were, Prowl wouldn't let us come this way at all. Anyway, I saw Hound leave and he went out by that crevice to the east. We're heading away from them."

"Well, maybe." Hauler considered. "Okay, but not too far."

"Sure. Hey, bet I can beat you to that gorge."

"What? Wait...!"

Cliffjumper laughed, gunning his engine and speeding away. Hauler was no racing model, and they both knew it. Cliffjumper would no doubt be able to get all the way to the named target and back again before Hauler was even halfway there the first time. Which was a nice goal, he thought to himself. A chance to burn off some of his irritation, a chance to really find out how fast this alt mode could go.

Speeding away, he was at first disappointed by the slow velocity but then decided that the thick atmosphere and friction were worth the cost to simple speed. It was _fun_ , racing like this. The wind whistled past him and he was conscious of every little dip and rise in the uneven ground. Laughing in delight he skidded around some organic growths rather than run into them then sped forward towards his goal. Arriving, he slammed on the brakes and was momentarily concerned as he failed to grip quite enough but then finally stopped right on the edge.

Laughing again, this time with a tinge of relief, he looked back at where he had come from. Hauler was still far in the distance. But more worryingly, in the skies above the yellow truck were heavy black clouds. Cliffjumper shivered, and began to race back.

He knew the rain here would do no physical harm, but that did nothing to change reflexes after so many vorns of Decepticon-caused acid rain on Cybertron. He had lost panels to that uncontrollable phenomenon, and he had known others who had lost more.

"Come on!" he yelled as he approached Hauler. "Lets go back. This isn't fun anymore."

"Why? What's wrong?" Hauler asked blankly.

A moment later the first drops of rain began to fall. Within clicks it went from a few random spots to a true downpour, and Cliffjumper winced as it pummelled his sensitive back.

"Haven't seen anything like _this_ before!" he gasped.

"What?" Hauler yelled back, probably not hearing him over the sound of the rain hitting their panelling.

~This is awful!~ Cliffjumper switched to a comm signal.

~At least it doesn't burn.~ Hauler pointed out.

~It mightn't burn, but he drumming on my back's driving me crazy without my paint!~

~Go on ahead, then.~ Hauler suggested. ~You'll be back in a a breem if you go as fast as you did just before. I'm just holding you up.~

~I shouldn't really leave you alone out here.~ Cliffjumper protested half-sparkedly.

~No, go ahead, I won't be long. And look: we're back inside Prowl's boundaries again now. It's fine, see?~

~Well, okay. If you're sure.~

~I'm sure. Go.~

* * *

Bumblebee stood on guard at the _Ark_ 's main entrance, intrigued by the heavy rainfall. It wasn't the first storm since they had woken here, but although Perceptor had insisted that the falling fluid could do them no harm on this planet, several of the older Autobots remained quite uncomfortable about the concept. They had some justification, considering that the acid rain that had fallen on Cybertron for so long could do serious damage to a mech in a short period if they were out in it without protection.

Until today, Bumblebee had been quite charmed by the concept of harmless water falling. It had been pretty, and a little like having a huge washrack to run around in. But this storm was different. The water was hitting the ground with such pressure that it was actually carving ruts in the dry dirt. Fascinating.

The noise was terrific, and it took him a moment to be sure that he was really hearing an approaching engine. Peering through the haze he saw a red form barrelling towards him, and picked up the carrier signal - it was an Autobot. Cliffjumper. That's right, he had gone out with Hauler. So where was the other mech?

"Where's Prime?" the demand came as the very wet minibot transformed and stumbled towards the entrance.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"It's Hauler." the minibot gasped, optics flaring. "The Seekers have him!"


	89. Part 16: Turning of the tide, 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16, chapter 6 of 6

"What're we going to do?" Hound whispered.

Jazz ignored the question for now, still deciding. Time was of the essence, but running in to this without some kind of plan would be suicidal.

Barely a breem earlier he had sent Mirage back with good news: the Decepticons were ready to leave. A few of the fliers had gone on one last atmospheric flight while everyone else settled inside the ugly but serviceable ship they had cobbled together, and in small groups they had returned after a short period. He and Hound had kept watching but it was more a formality now.

Then Starscream had reappeared outside, peering up at the sky. Megatron had emerged, cuffing at him and complaining loudly about how Starscream was now delaying them after being so keen to leave. Starscream's response had been too quiet to hear from this distance but he had pointed and Jazz had twisted around to see a Seeker trine approaching with an Autobot captive.

How or why Hauler had been captured was irrelevant; the damage was done. Even before the Seekers landed with their prize, Soundwave was scanning the area and his cassettes were searching. For now he and Hound had remained undetected but their earlier security was gone and it was only a matter of time until they were discovered.

The Seekers were fast approaching. Once Soundwave was within reach of Hauler, their numbers and current situation would be quickly revealed. The question was what he should do about it.

He could shoot Hauler. The Seekers were going to fly almost directly overhead and there would be a good chance for a fatal shot. But that would give away his presence and location, and the Seekers would be close enough to be a problem. He was a much bigger prize for the enemy.

If he was going to risk himself, it would be better to shoot at Megatron. The mech was standing in the open. It was one of the best opportunities he had ever seen, but the distances made him wary. Neither he nor Hound were proper snipers. If Bluestreak or Prowl or even Mirage were here he might have considered it. As it was, it was too risky they would miss.

"I need a diversion." he said finally. "Gimme half a breem t'move, then put a hologram up where one o'the cassettes'll see it. Catch their attention. Keep it movin' an' whatever ya do, don't get caught. When ya get the chance, go back to the _Ark_ an' tell'em what's happened."

"What are you going to do?"

Jazz eyed up his target, watching the Seekers land, then flashed a bright smile at his subordinate.

"The impossible, o'course."

* * *

"They came out of nowhere!" Cliffjumper insisted, a small puddle of water forming around where he stood.

Everyone had gathered to hear what had happened, and the minibot's words were almost lost under the sounds of their agitation.

"It was hard to see or hear anything with all that rain, and then I looked back and there were these Seekers surrounding him."

"You had gone ahead?" Prowl checked.

"Typical." Sideswipe muttered.

"We were inside the perimeter!" Cliffjumper protested. "It should've been okay."

"Well it wasn't, was it?" Sideswipe snarled back.

"Enough." Optimus intoned firmly. "We are not here to lay blame. If Cliffjumper had been with him, it's possible both would have been taken by surprise and neither would have made it back. The time for hiding is over: they know we're here, so we'll have to take the fight to them."

"If we can reach them, Prime." Mirage spoke up from the back of the crowd, others giving way to let him through. "I was on my way here to tell you that the Decepticons are ready to launch when I saw a Seeker trine carrying Hauler away. It seems you already know that much, but by now it's possible they have left the planet's surface."

"Having a prisoner and information about Prime might make them reconsider leaving so soon." Trailbreaker pointed out.

"Autobots, we have no time to waste." Optimus intoned, looking around. "Everyone gather a jetpack and assemble outside. We have Decepticons to stop!"

* * *

Hound's diversion worked well. The Decepticons bubbled angrily out of their ship into the rain, searching, and the ambient confusion allowed a sorcelled Meister to slip closer. Soundwave was the biggest threat to him, but the host was preoccupied with his cassettes. Thankfully that also meant that Hauler was temporarily safe from interrogation, if still in a dire situation.

Off to one side, Starscream and Megatron were arguing loudly, ignoring everything else. Megatron apparently considered it Starscream's fault that Autobots had survived and was not listening to reason. It was tempting to shoot at them now that he was so close, but he stuck to his mission, hurrying inside the ship. Killing Megatron would be good; taking out him _and_ his command team would be a move that could potentially end the war. Meister had no explosives but he had been a saboteur too long to let little details like that stop him.

Irritatingly, not everyone had gone outside - some were milling about, complaining about the rain, and several times he had to hide or backtrack. It was frustrating. Generally speaking he could move within an enemy base with little concern; most of the time no-one paid any attention to you if you walked with a purpose and looked confident, but these were strange circumstances. With less than forty mechs living and working in close proximity for several orns he knew better than to think they would not question a stranger. Particularly during a commotion when an Autobot prisoner had just been taken.

Peering into every room he passed, he finally found what he was looking for: an empty room with a lockable door. Ideally it would also have a computer terminal, but he could make do if it did not. This room needed no sign to tell him what it was: he was in Megatron's audience chamber, complete with throne on a raised platform. Sad, really, he mused as he skipped up to the oversized chair. Megatron wanted so badly to have control of the Matrix, ignoring the fact that the thing itself would probably reject him. There was more to being Prime than just ordering bots about.

Settling in the chair he found a dataport and plugged in. As expected, three things immediately became obvious: firstly, this gave him access to everything he needed; secondly, there were protections to prevent anyone other than Megatron from using it; and finally, that Megatron really needed a better programmer if he expected to keep Meister out.

Grinning, he made some adjustments. A change here, a rearrangement of code there, a nasty surprise put in place on that switch...

Too soon, he was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Pulling out of the programs as quickly as he could, he disconnected. Surely no-one had been able to track what he had been doing? No-one here with the skill should have had the time.

Coiling his cable again he cast about, grimacing as he found the room empty of furnishings except for the throne itself. Grunting in annoyance he moved behind the chair and sorcelled again, settling against it in the faint hope that he would not be seen. A few clicks later, the doors opened and several mechs moved inside.

"So? Where's this stranger you say you saw?" a gruff voice demanded.

"He was here! I know he was here, I saw him!"

"Well this is the only exit and he's not here now. Glitchy Seeker. If you've made me miss out on beating up Autobots I'll take it out on you later!"

The first mech stomped away, but the second lingered and was apparently not alone as he started up another conversation.

"If he's not here, how did the door get locked?"

"I don't know. Come on, we're in enough trouble."

"No, wait, I want to look properly first."

"At what? There's nothing here but that chair."

"Wait, what's this? A drone?"

Three Seekers came into view, though Meister gave no indication he could see them.

"Maybe that's what you saw, then."

"Okay, but where'd it come from? I haven't seen any drones around."

"Maybe we should tell Starscream." the third offered, speaking for the first time, staring intently.

"Like he'd do anything, he's gone crazy." the first spat. "He won't care. Come on, lets go. I don't want to be caught in here."

The first two Seekers headed out, but the third kept staring at him.

"Skimmer's right, it's weird." the Seeker muttered to himself. "There weren't any drones, that's why we all had to help build. And even if he did see you come in, drones don't lock doors. Or hide behind chairs. And now we know there are Autobots about, so maybe..."

He got no further as Meister surged forward, plunging an energy dagger straight into his spark.

Messy, Meister cursed himself as he heard the Seeker's trinemates scream. He would have to leave straight away, which meant no chance to finish the job and no chance to rescue Hauler. Pushing himself rapidly through yet another sorcelling change - aware that he was going to pay for all this self-abuse later - he pulled out a Decepticon blaster and hovered over the greying form until the first Seeker appeared.

"Find the Autobot!" he barked.

As he expected they ignored his order, heading for their fallen mate. He moved past them, yelling about Autobot intruders, and managed to divert several others before escaping the ship. Back outside he found that the rain was now even heavier, but he was not safe: Soundwave was dangerously close, and Megatron and Starscream's argument had apparently ended.

He looked about for Hauler, but the minibot was offline and being carried by a triplechanger - just the attempt would destroy his own chance of escape. Cursing in frustration, he turned away.

Dodging groups and backtracking several times, he managed to find his way up into the hills where he and his team had been observing the Decepticons for the past few orns. Swearing, he pushed himself through one final sorcel and transformed into his most newly acquired alt mode before taking off down the other side. Speed was of the essence. The changes he had made to the Decepticon ship might be enough or they might not, but either way they would only help once the ship took off. If the Decepticons chose to stay and fight instead of leaving, Prowl's plans would be needed, and for Prowl to be around _he_ had to stay alive.

This alt mode was fast and the rain helped conceal him in the colours he had chosen, but he would not consider himself safe until he was back within the _Ark_. He expected to be chased and fired upon, but for nearly a breem nothing happened, then a loud roaring noise behind him made him skid to a stop and stare in surprise. The Decepticons were launching? Now? Why?

It made no sense but he would not question such a piece of good fortune. He pinged his partner, watching as the ship's nose rose above the hills behind him.

~Babe you just ain't gonna believe this: I think we got'em!~

* * *

Prowl tensed as Jazz brought him up to date. The Decepticons had launched in a ship that was rigged to explode as it left the atmosphere. With luck, Jazz said, the enemy would all be killed.

Prowl did not rely on luck, and he knew that Optimus would not have approved the move when Hauler was at risk, yet it was too late to change any of it.

"The Decepticons are launching." he announced as they drove at the head of the Autobot convoy.

"Why now?" Ironhide demanded. "Aren't they going to fight?"

"We will keep going until we know for sure." Optimus said firmly. "This could be a ruse. Autobots: transform and use your jetpacks!"

Prowl followed the order, also unsubspacing his acid pellet rifle. All Autobot soldiers were trained in the use of jetpack combat, but he hated using them in his plans. Ground model mechs were always clumsy in the air, himself most definitely included, and it was never a good idea to put yourself at a disadvantage. Still, the trajectory of the ship's launch should take it out over the ocean and they could not drive on that.

"Conserve your fuel as much as possible!" he reminded them. "The jets will keep you buoyant in the water if necessary, but that will strain them and without them you will have a tedious journey home across the seabed. Try to stay in the air."

On Prime's command they took off and began to head towards the shoreline. Prowl saw Jazz driving back towards the _Ark_ but stayed focused on getting above the cloud cover. Once he did, he could see the Decepticon ship rising in the distance.

~We'll never catch them!~ Smokescreen cried on an open channel.

~At least they'll be gone.~ Tracks pointed out.

~But taking Hauler with them!~ Cliffjumper cried, engine revving.

~Your recommendation?~ Optimus asked.

Prowl considered the situation in light of what Jazz had told him. There was little point trying to catch the ship themselves, but they needed to see how this played out.

~We should continue to follow until we see them leave the atmosphere.~ he said after a few clicks. ~At this stage they could theoretically level out and choose to make landfall in another location in order to ambush us in an upcoming attack. If they do not change their trajectory by that time it's unlikely they intend to return immediately, which would give us time to...~

He broke off, seeing a plume of smoke burst from the Decepticon ship. The ship's flight path wavered as it lurched and stalled. It shuddered as something inside exploded, and then the engine sputtered out and it began to fall. Plotting the new angles he saw that it would fall into the ocean a short distance from a fixed human structure. Considering the options, he recommended that they observe without interference, but Optimus did not agree.

~I will not have humans harmed if we are in a position to prevent it.~

~Our very appearance could well frighten them into preferring to endanger themselves further rather than allow us to help them.~ he warned.

~We must try.~

Prowl let it go but pinged Bumblebee to move forward in the group and to be one of the first to land even as he reached out to the others.

~The initial danger to the humans will come from the impact wave. It may well be large enough to completely engulf the structure and take the humans with it. If they are to survive, they must be kept out of the water. Once in it, the temperature alone can do them fatal damage in little more than a breem.~

~Protecting them is our first priority.~ Optimus agreed. ~Autobots: prepare for battle!~

* * *

_Epilogue_

Jazz met the returning troops at the entrance to the _Ark_ , picking up the mood long before any of them drove into sight. They had had a victory. Not the total annihilation of their hated enemy that would have been the best case scenario, but a positive experience. It was good, and they were all clearly ready to celebrate, so he shifted a speaker system outside and had local music playing and energon close at hand and was lounging strategically on a boulder when the first mechs came into view.

To his mild surprise, Prowl was not among them. His mate was not far away, he was sure, but why was Bumblebee at Prime's side? The answer came quickly as Bumblebee's doors opened and two humans emerged. They were much smaller than he had expected, or perhaps these two were simply small for their race. The shorter and slimmer of the two was babbling away constantly at Bumblebee, much like Bluestreak could with his friends, while the taller and bulkier one had wandered over to talk to Optimus.

Prowl finally arrived at the back of the convoy, remaining very quiet and notably not rushing straight inside to do his battle analysis. Jazz worked his way casually through the crowd, pausing with some, adding to the conversation with others, and finally made it to his partner's side.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Prowl cocked his head slightly, giving him a peculiar look, then smiled brightly.

"The Decepticons are stuck at the bottom of the ocean _and_ we made some new friends!"

Jazz began to reach for him, alarmed at the peculiar mood he was in and wondering if it was a glitch caused by some kind of damage, then saw Prowl's doorwings twitch in irritation.

~Don't you dare. I'm _acting_. There are humans present.~

Jazz settled back, giving his mate a dubious look.

~I'm gonna have t'give you some actin' lessons then, mech, cause this is just way too creepy.~

Prowl's smile turned faintly smug, but then took on a touch of concern.

~You're very tired.~

Jazz shrugged, responding verbally to question from Blaster about the current tune.

~Sorcellin'll do that to a mech. Too many changes in too short a time. Nothin' a bit o'rest won't cure. So what happened? An' how'd we end up wit'the humans?~

Prowl was distracted momentarily by Bluestreak bringing him a cube of energon and shooing the other mech back into the crowd, but eventually answered.

~Whatever you did was insufficient. The ship fell into the ocean and our scans indicate that it's still mostly intact and many of the Decepticons survived, although they are currently stuck on the ocean floor. Sadly, Hauler was not so fortunate - he was badly damaged in one of the explosions and Ratchet was unable to stabilise him in the field.~

~Poor mech.~ Jazz shook his head, then set the regret aside. Mecha died in war, that was how it went. "So where'd the humans come in?~

~There was a small skirmish with some of the Seekers and a few Casetticons on the surface near a human-built structure for extracting a liquefied energy source and the structure was destroyed. We managed to rescue all of the humans, but one was temporarily taken hostage by Laserbeak. He and his creator were much more accepting of our assistance than the others and begged to stay with us once we returned them to land while the others left.~

~So we've got our native guides, then?~

~So it would seem.~ Prowl sighed. ~They are not quite what I had planned but I suppose there will be opportunities for contact with others of higher social standing at other times. For now, they are a good test for Bumblebee's diplomatic skills with very little risk of damage to us or our reputation should it go wrong.~

~Very pragmatic of ya. What're they called?~

Prowl shifted a little uneasily.

~The younger is named Samuel Witwicky. His creator is Earl Witwicky. However both have preferred designations which they insist we should use. The elder wishes to be known as Sparkplug.~

~Sounds almost Cybertronian.~ Jazz put in when Prowl paused. ~He come up with it after hearin' some of ours?~

~No, it appears he has had that appellation for quite some time. His colleagues were using it as we approached.~

~Okay, so what's the younger one called, then?~

Prowl looked at him for a long moment.

~You understand you must not make a mockery of this.~ he warned. ~It is highly important that we do nothing to alarm or confuse them.~

~Yeah, yeah, I've read your report. So?~

Prowl sighed.

~He wishes to be called Spike.~

~You're kiddin'.~

~I wish I were. I have already had to threaten half the crew with dire consequences for anything that would make the humans curious as to why we find the name so humorous. I expect all the officers to set a good example.~

Jazz nodded seriously, pretending to consider it, then glanced sidelong at his partner.

~Well, I'd better go see if Bee's Spike needs some attention.~

~You say that out loud and you _will_ be charging in the corridor.~ Prowl warned him.

Jazz just laughed and moved back into the crowd. Time to meet the newcomers. One thing was for certain: life on this planet was not going to be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 16.


	90. Part 17: Time passes (when you're having fun), 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 17, chapter 1 of 4

"Good game, Prowl." Chip beamed. "Next time you're bound to win."

Prowl lifted the physically disabled human off the table and back onto the floor.

"With your coaching I'm sure I'm getting better every game." he responded cheerfully. "But I think I need more practice."

"Well I'll be back on Sunday and we can play again, then."

"Great!"

Fussing with the chess set he pretended to be in no hurry whatsoever, but as soon as Chip was gone he hurried back to his office to continue with his real work. As always, there was more waiting for him than he had left behind when he left a few short hours earlier. He had managed to handle some of it remotely during the game - if he didn't split his attention several ways the simplicity of the game would quickly drive him crazy over the loss of time - but there were some things that required his full attention and there was never enough time to get through them all.

Perhaps it was just that they had switched to using the local time units, but a great deal seemed to have occurred in a very short period of time.

They had met a vast array of humans, the majority of whom were friendly. A handful had turned out to be close friends: Spike and Sparkplug, of course, but also Carly, Chip (whose name also raised a few comments from the Autobots initially), Astoria and Raoul. All of these had full names but they expected to be referred to by a shorter designation and the Autobots complied with that request.

The Decepticons were a threat, but often a distant one. Instead of trying to crush the remaining Autobots, Megatron's goal was to collect enough energon to rejuvenate Cybertron. Aside from the fact that it was an insane goal, he also did it in the most complicated way and at the expense of his own troops' wellbeing. This planet was suffused with easily convertible energy sources and it would have been a simple matter for them to have gathered it themselves with no damage to the ecosystem. Instead, they caused mayhem and destruction by attacking human installations, making obvious targets of themselves and forcing themselves into a situation where they had to snatch what they could and then run with it.

In terms of the Autobots' relations with the humans this only reinforced the fact that they were the 'good guys' and the Decepticons were simply bad, but it was peculiar. Whatever had happened to Megatron during the long stasis he was now giving some very strange orders. He was also increasingly volatile and violent towards his own troops. Jazz and Mirage took turns observing the Decepticons and both were grim about the situation, aware that this pressure could not continue forever unrelieved, and that worried Prowl too: it made the Decepticons unpredictable.

On the up side, their own numbers were growing slowly but steadily and they now well outnumbered the Decepticon forces on Earth.

Over time, as they gained access to further sections of the _Ark_ they found a few more colleagues, and Ratchet built up his instrumentation to the point where he could actually resuscitate those still in stasis rather than having to wait anxiously for them to recover by themselves.

Nor was this the only source of new 'arrivals'. Wheeljack became enthused by the concept of dinosaurs, an extinct class of organic creature that had once lived on Earth, and had somehow gotten permission from Prime to create five split sparks - three in the first round, then two more. Against Ratchet's advice, Wheeljack had constructed large and complex frames for the five, which immediately proved to be too much for the young mechs to handle. Ratchet had made some programming adjustments which allowed them to focus on physical control first, and even gave them English as a primary language rather than Cybertronian to ease the complexity their processors needed to deal with. In a decade or so - of vorns, not Earth years - he would begin removing the blocks and they would assimilate the data more or less normally, but in the meantime things were very messy.

Next was the surprise arrival of a Cybertronian scientist named Skyfire who had been trapped in stasis on the planet for even longer than they had. The shuttle had no real concept of the war, having left Cybertron with his research partner before it had truly begun. Only the officers were privy to the knowledge that that research partner was now designated Starscream and that it was the Decepticon Air Commander who had located and revived Skyfire. The scientist was in shock both over the changes in Cybertronian society and overthose in a mech he had once known, and Prowl was inclined to indulge his desire to remain out of the fighting. He was not equipped for it, they had enough soldiers to fight without him, and he also gave them a tactical advantage: he could be used to collect the wounded, and Starscream himself would ensure he was not fired upon.

Then there were the Aerialbots. For some reason the humans thought they had been constructed in the same way as the Dinobots, but Prowl could not see the logic in that. After all, they were clearly not experiencing the same difficulties as the split spark creations. Optimus attempted to explain to them the difference between split sparks and whole sparks from Vector Sigma, but to no avail and he gave up before attempting to explain what had really happened.

In fact, four of the five fliers were former Seekers. They had been discovered in one of the _Ark_ 's blocked corridors along with a Decepticon ground model. While it would have been simpler to simply terminate them, Optimus was interested in the possibility of giving them the opportunity to survive, in spite of the fact that Seekers needed to be connected to others and it was unclear if any of the four were from the same trine. Skyfire, Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack worked for several months to come up with a plan, and in the end decided that it might work if they were re-worked into a gestalt, with the ground model mech as the core.

Ratchet had concerns about the radical programming changes required, but Skyfire insisted that he had knowledge of such things and produced a long-subspaced datapad with data sourced from a pre-war scientist named Asher. Whatever was on the datapad certainly intrigued Wheeljack and Perceptor, and in the end it worked remarkably well. Silverbolt would probably never be a natural flier, but he provided a focus for what had turned out to be four Seekers of completely separate trines. Without the gestalt connection they would have gone mad.

Ethically, many were still uncertain about the changes, but the scientists promised Prime that there was no programming added to force the five to become Autobots and Prowl was inclined to believe that Skyfire would never have permitted such coersion given his own aversion to join the faction. Essentially they were being onlined as newly activated mechs. Initially it seemed as though the former Decepticons would align themselves with their former friends - something which had alarmed Prowl, the idea that they may have given the enemy such a weapon to use against them - but that did not last long once they got firsthand experience of how Megatron treated his troops.

Then there were the arguments caused by their insistence that some of the Decepticon fliers be 'rescued' from Megatron. The concept had started with the Aerialbots but quickly found favour with Skyfire and, surprisingly, Jazz. Prowl knew his mate was disturbed by the conditions in which the Decepticons were living, confined under the ocean for the most part and often starved of proper sustenance, but could not approve any such 'rescue' missions. The enemy were the enemy up until there was a request for asylum.

The most recent addition to their numbers was the Protectobot gestalt who had been in stasis since the crash. Ratchet was very pleased to have another experienced medic on hand, and a more senior gestalt was a good example to the Aerialbots, but it put increasing pressure on the _Ark_ as their base. In spite of their efforts to access other portions of the ship, their space was still limited and patience for the situation was beginning to wear thin.

More and more frequently Prowl found himself the focus of frustrated mechs who wanted some privacy from their colleagues and, even more importantly, from the ever-curious humans. He was acutely aware that he and Jazz could get that privacy since they did not share their quarters with anyone else, and while no-one had ever made that point to his face he had heard the grumbles.

There had to be a long term solution to the problem, but in the meantime he was attempting to ameliorate it by making it clear that he and Jazz were focused on their duties as a first priority. Jazz was often away, in any case, and for himself he could immerse himself in his work.

Ratchet disapproved, but that was not new. Working long shifts had never done him any serious damage, and would not do so now. It would be a different matter if there were not so much to be done, he assured the medic, and ignored the rude responses that argument received.

It did not matter, anyway, he considered, striding along the corridor towards his office. This was only temporary. And besides, it had only been a few decaorns. It was just strange how it felt more like decades. Time was not subjective, and yet around the humans it became so.

A troubling thought, and one he immediately put out of his mind. He had work to do.

* * *

Bluestreak stilled as Prowl strode past, torn between calling out to him and remaining unnoticed. His hesitation meant he ended up with the latter, which wasn't a _bad_ thing given the attention Sideswipe was currently giving his doorwings.

"Relax." the twin murmured. "He's gone."

"He looks tired again."

"He looks tired _still_." Sideswipe corrected him. "But he's okay. You should've heard him going on at me and Sunny about the waxed floors."

"I did. And I heard Ratchet yelling about having to fix up so many bots after they slipped and crashed into the walls."

"Serves them right - they shouldn't run in the corridors. Prowl's always saying that See? We do listen when he says stuff. Anyway, he had no proof it was us so he had to let it go. I told him it was probably Jazz. Or the Aerials."

"Was it?" Bluestreak asked curiously.

Sideswipe laughed.

"Nope. But it could've been."

Bluestreak shook his head.

"You shouldn't tease him when he's so tired."

"If we didn't, he'd probably barely leave his office." Sideswipe pointed out. "This way at least he gets some fresh air."

"He spends some time with Chip." Bluestreak offered. "And he goes for a drive with me every week. And he... ooh, Sides, don't! Someone could see!"

Sideswipe laughed and relented, hugging him, murmuring into his audial.

"Wanna go get some privacy, then?"

Bluestreak twitched.

"Red Alert always tells Prowl if he sees me going into your quarters."

"Is that why Prowl does his sudden inspections all the time when you're visiting?"

"Probably."

"Well that's easy fixed. Gimme twenty minutes to block the cameras, then come on in. I'll be waiting."

* * *

"Sides'n'I'll beat him up if that'll help."

Prowl looked up from his terminal, startled to find that he was not alone in his office.

"Sunstreaker? Beat up who?"

"Jazz." the gold mech stated solemnly.

Prowl frowned, confused.

"Why would I want you to fight with Jazz?"

"To beat some sense into him."

Prowl had a momentary flashback to finding Sunstreaker in the hands of the _Ark_ 's medics as they fled Cybertron following the last time he had confronted Jazz.

"I don't think that's at all a wise idea. Nor do I understand your intentions. What has Jazz done wrong?"

"You tell me." Sunstreaker grunted. "You're the one who's been avoiding him."

Prowl stared at him.

"I haven't been avoiding him. He's been busy and so have I."

"Yeah, right."

"Sunstreaker, he's on a mission."

"And due back tonight and you've put yourself down for a triple shift."

"Which you interpret to mean that we have been arguing?" Prowl asked. "There is simply work to be done, and we both know that. We have been together long enough to understand each other's role that way. And he has only been gone for a short while, it hardly warrants any special consideration."

"Oh yeah? When's the last time you fragged him? Not this year, that's for sure."

Prowl frowned, doorwings twitching.

"That is none of your business."

"Whatever. Just keep it in mind. That slagger spends too much time upsetting you."

Prowl's indignation faded as he realised that Sunstreaker was truly focused on his welfare, and was touched by the concern.

"Jazz has done nothing wrong." he said gently.

"So you'll take some time off, then?" Sunstreaker challenged him.

Prowl shook his head.

"I have work to do. Now if you'll please leave me to it, I'll be done quicker."

Sunstreaker stared at him for a long moment, then huffed.

"Maybe it's _you_ we should be beating sense into." he muttered.

Prowl looked up in alarm but the other mech was already leaving, the door closing behind himself.

* * *

Jazz hummed happily to himself as he turned off the human road and onto the track that led out to the _Ark_. It was always good to be coming home.

Spying on the Decepticons had become arduous over the past little while; not in terms of skill required, but in terms of emotional fortitude to stand by and watch mechs squabbling over the dregs of a bad batch of energon because they were simply that hungry. He had seen uncountable cases of starvation amongst Autobots and Neutrals during the long war, and while he had no particular interest in the wellbeing of individual Decepticons it was a cruel way for anyone to suffer. And an unnecessary one on this energy-abundant planet.

Annoyed at himself for dwelling on it, he tried to refocus on happier thoughts. Mirage had taken over surveillance which meant he now had two orns - a full month - of time back at the _Ark_. He could catch up with the latest tunes, spend some time with their human friends, and generally unwind.

There was a concert coming up, and he and Blaster were going to go with Tracks and some of Raoul's friends. It still amused him that Tracks would make friends with the scruffy human. Raoul had been good for him, had helped him to relax and have fun.

Earth, in general, had been good for all of them. It was almost like how life had been before the war. Except for the occasional skirmish with the Decepticons, they were able to enjoy themselves. Many had begun to explore old hobbies and interests, not quite resuming their pre-war lives but beginning to remember how that life had been. It was a remarkable change from the constant fear and pressure of the past few centuries.

Sadly, it made Prowl's social awkwardness even more obvious. Prowl had been clinging ever more tightly to his work as others had relaxed, peace being a foreign situation for him. He fretted when he was away from his office for more than a few hours, and worried over what to say when others asked about his past before the war.

It would work out, Jazz assured himself. Prowl just needed more time because for him it wasn't a matter of remembering how things _had_ been, but one of learning how things _could_ be. He would get there eventually.

Coming around the side of a low hill he saw a familiar shape, but it was not Prowl. Bluestreak was waiting for him?

"Heya, Blue, what's happenin'?" he greeted him as the other mech moved to drive alongside him.

"Oh lots, as always. Stuff happens so fast here, with the humans around. Did you hear that Sparkplug's moving to New York? He's got some job out there and the Protectobots are supposed to be going with him, and maybe Tracks and Powerglide too. Astoria's really excited that Powerglide's going to be there - I don't think she really likes coming out here, she says she's a city girl, whatever that means. You're back for awhile now, right? So you have time to catch up with everything?"

"That's the plan."

"Good." Bluestreak said firmly. "You need to spend some time with Prowl. Sunny thinks you two've been arguing and that's why you're not spending any time together and why he's working all the time."

"We've just been busy, Blue." Jazz assured him. "An' you know Prowl: he's always focusin' on his work. Besides, it's only been a coupla decaorns since we woke up here."

"Yeah, but at the moment he seems really stressed. And it feels lots longer than that because of the humans."

"Well I'll see what I can do."

"You could frag him in his office."

Jazz chuckled, wondering what Prowl would think of his supposedly innocent Bluestreak making such a blunt suggestion.

"Who knows, I might just do that. Wouldn't be the first time. First, though, I'm plannin' t'have a proper wash an' get some charge. Gotta have my strength up if I'm gonna try an' pry that workaholic mate o'mine from his desk, right?"

Bluestreak bounced on his suspension.

"It's good to have you back, Jazz."

"It's good to _be_ back, Blue. Meantime, tell Sunny to back off a bit, would ya? Everythin's under control."


	91. Part 17: Time passes (when you're having fun), 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 17, chapter 2 of 4

"A fully functional fort?" Grapple mused.

"Say _that_ three times fast." Blaster murmured from his workstation in the command centre, and Jazz, lounging in a chair nearby, chuckled, not at all perturbed by the quelling glare Prowl cast in his direction, waving happily at his disgruntled mate who now clearly chose to ignore him.

"Can it be done with the resources here?"

"Well of course it can." Grapple said stiffly. "But if we start to try to build it, the Decepticons will simply attack and destroy it."

"Red Alert and I will find a way to manage that." Prowl assured him. "How long will you need to produce a draft of the structural plans?"

"You're rushing me already? These things shouldn't be rushed. I need more details..."

Prowl patiently pointed him back to the outline.

"If you need anything further, you can come back to me. Can I expect a response in two orns?"

"Well I'll do my best. I'll have to read this carefully... plan... so much to consider..."

Grapple wandered away muttering to himself, and Prowl turned back towards his office.

Jazz nodded a casual farewell to Blaster and followed, noting that Prowl had not noticed him and that his doorwings were shaking faintly with fatigue. As Prowl reached his office door Jazz reached out and stroked one of those panels, stilling it and not impressed that the move took his partner entirely by surprise.

"Jazz?" Prowl yelped, pulling away and hurrying inside. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"There ain't no humans here right now." Jazz drawled, closing the door behind himself. "An' you're so tense they're actually vibratin'. You even notice you just gave that timeframe in our time units, not human?"

"Did I?" Prowl faltered.

Jazz nudged him down into his chair, rubbing soothingly at his back.

"You need to take a proper break, Prowler. Not just these little naps. You're the only one of us still runnin' on Cybertron time: you're puttin' in six shifts straight for every one you put the rest of us on."

"There is much to be done. And we do not require such frequent rest periods."

"Nah we don't. But if you're workin' full shifts then you should be takin' full shift breaks too. Only you're not."

"I cannot be absent for days at a time without valid reason. It will make the humans suspicious."

"Then you're just gonna have to move to human time, like the rest of us."

Prowl shook his head stubbornly, and Jazz decided to change tack.

"Look, why don't you at least take a break right now? It's late afternoon, we're not expectin' any visitors, you'll have clear through to dawn."

"I need to get this done first."

"Can't it wait?"

"No. After this, Jazz, I will. But I must do this first."

"Well lemme give you a hand, then. What is it?"

Prowl sighed heavily.

"Room allocations."

"Again? I thought Hoist was almost done converting those broken washracks for the Protectobots?"

"They're not the problem, it's Trailbreaker I need to move. It seems Perceptor and Smokescreen are going to persist in exploring their new relationship in public areas unless something is done to put them together; I can only pray that once they have some privacy they will have the decency to use it and cease this foolishness altogether. The only reason they did not get caught by the visiting scientists today was that Red Alert caught them first."

Jazz snickered.

"Red sure was mad. I think even Cybertron might've picked up on that rant."

"What worries me is what we'll say if the humans ever do. If we can at least keep them in their own quarters when the urge strikes, we can avoid both."

"That, or we could set up a special room just for a bit o'private time." Jazz suggested lightly, then raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, not a good idea. It'd get a lot o'use, though."

Prowl grunted, rubbing at his helm.

"Even if that were a viable option we have no such available space, and if we did I would simply shift Trailbreaker into it."

"What if you put Breaker in with Beachcomber?" Jazz suggested, electing not to tease any more for now, concerned at the signs of genuine fatigue in his mate's behaviour. "They get on okay, and it'd be better for Breaker to not feel like he's bein' shuffled just cause he ain't in a relationship right now."

"And put Bluestreak where?" Prowl asked tiredly. "That room is simply not large enough for three berths."

Jazz leaned forward, bringing the data up on a convenient screen.

"Gimme a go. You take a break."

Prowl sighed, rising.

"Energon?"

"Yeah, go on. You know you use that thing too much, though, right? It keeps you in this office long past when you should've left."

"You were the one who asked Hoist to install it, not me." Prowl pointed out, returning and setting a cube down on the desk while peering at the display. "You can't do that. Wheeljack..."

"Hey lemme finish before you pick it apart, will ya?"

Prowl subsided, returning to his chair and sipping at his energon.

"I got that dispenser approved cause I got tired o'findin' ya in here goin' offline from not fuellin' at all, not as an excuse to lock yourself in here even longer." Jazz reminded him.

"Mm." Prowl murmured, finishing his cube, then focused sharply as the energy boost took effect. "Have you spoken with Powerglide yet?"

"Yeah, he got the message. He's bein' careful."

"By whose definition? The last thing we need is for there to be some truth to the rumours the more fanatical humans have already claimed about his relationship with Astoria."

"He knows that. He doesn't want to make it worse for her either."

"He rarely shows any forethought for consequence." Prowl stated darkly.

"It won't last, Sparkles. It can't, we all know that. Astoria's got two thirds of a vorn left at most, an' just as likely less. Why shouldn't he be silly for a while? Primus knows things've been bleak for long enough, an' they'll probably get that way again before we're ready. It ain't like he's fraggin' her."

"Oh please don't even suggest that." Prowl moaned, dropping his head in his hands. "Him courting her and following her around like a symbiote to a host is bad enough. I've seen some of the things Red Alert has found on the internet - we do _not_ want to encourage this."

"I think Red actually likes it, y'know." Jazz considered. "They're so far off-base with their guesses, it gives him some security. If they ever figure out how we _could_ share with a human, he'll glitch so hard we'll have t'scrape him off the ceilin'. Right. There. Whaddaya think?"

He flicked the screen back around to face Prowl who raised his head then gave a tired laugh.

"I think you're more help when you're not helping me."

"Hey, it's practical. It'd give us the space we need."

"And if you used the rec room as barracks, where would you suggest we hold gatherings or use as recreational space? You'd start a riot."

"Who says that's a bad thing?" Jazz asked, rising and scooping up Prowl's cube.

"I don't need another."

"Yeah y'do." Jazz countered. "An' you also need to charge. You can't keep doin' normal workshifts with only a coupla groons charge."

"The humans worry if we're not available during their active hours."

"Exactly." Jazz agreed, handing over the refilled cube. "So the rest of us've adjusted our active hours to match..."

"Wait." Prowl interrupted him. "We had this conversation already."

"Several times." Jazz reminded him, making a more serious attempt at resolving the room allocation problem. "Since you're not listenin' when I try t'be reasonable, I thought I might just try to program it into you through repetition."

"I am hearing you."

"Sure you are, y'just ain't listenin'. Okay. Seriously, how about this: we put Breaker in with Comber. Blue shifts out, an' goes in wit' the twins."

"No."

"Drink your energon an' listen. I know y'don't think it's a good thing for them t'be gettin' too serious wit'him..."

"They had better not be!"

"...but I ain't quite sure I get why it bothers ya." Jazz finished. "Blue's old enough t'make up his own mind about who he's sharin' with. Now so far he's been turnin'em down because he knows you ain't keen on it, but honestly, Sparkles, who with half a processor would ever've let me court you if they'd known even half the truth? Hmm?"

Prowl had been about to argue, but now subsided unhappily.

"I just don't want to see him hurt."

"An' neither do they." Jazz pointed out. "Look, you were the one who told me vorns ago that they could be trusted. You were right. An' maybe they'll even realise it ain't gonna work out an' that'll be that, but I'm tellin' ya now: no-one else is gonna wanna share a room with'em an' they ain't gonna agree t'share space wit' anyone else either."

"Bluestreak could move in with you and I could move in with the twins." Prowl considered.

Jazz gave him a reproachful look.

"Sparkles, I ain't been fightin' ya on this whole martyr complex ya got goin' jus' cause the two of us ended up here together when others got separated, but you got a whole lot more thinkin' t'do if ya think I'm gonna put up wit'ya movin' out over it. You're barely gettin' any charge as it is, an' besides we only just got the bunks replaced wit' a bigger berth. Much as I like Blue I ain't intendin' t' share my berth wit'him an' I doubt he would be happy wit'it either. He _wants_ them just as much as they want him. An' if they didn't respect ya as much as they do they wouldn't be hesitatin' over it."

"I'll think about it." Prowl sighed.

"Which is another sign that y'need t'get some charge." Jazz pointed out. "Otherwise you'd make a decision here an' now. In the meantime, are you gonna drink that or just stare at it?"

Prowl looked at the cube Jazz had given him, then shook his head.

"What did you put in it?"

"Say what?"

"You've drugged it, to make me charge. I said I would go when this was done, I'd prefer you trusted me to keep my word."

"Oh for the love of Primus! You think I even need to? You're half offline on your pedes, Sparkles, you're gonna keel over any click now no matter _what_ I do. You want proof? Fine. Watch."

He picked up the cube and drank half of it.

"See? It's just energon. Come on, Prowler, please. I'm worried about you."

Chastened, Prowl picked it up and finished it. Within clicks the light in his optics flickered and faded.

"Sorry, Sparkles, turns out I was lyin' an' you were right." Jazz murmured, spitting the tainted energon out of his backup tank and back into the cube. "But you need the charge, an' if I left you to it you'd set an alarm t'make sure you didn't get enough before you were back in here."

* * *

"Jazz, have you seen Prowl today? I had a meeting with him and he didn't turn up."

"He's takin' some down time, boss. Anythin' I can help with?"

Optimus joined Jazz at the rec room table, considering his third in command.

"You drugged him?"

"Like I even needed to." Jazz snorted. "He was runnin' on fumes."

"But you did."

"Well, yeah. Was for his own good. Is he missin' anythin' important?"

"Nothing that can't wait."

"See, that's what I keep tryin' t'tell him. Stuff can wait for a bit. He doesn't listen."

"Who doesn't listen, Jazz?" a small voice asked brightly.

They both looked across to see Bumblebee entering the room with Spike.

"Prowl." Jazz responded casually.

"Oh man, don't tell me he's frozen up again." Spike laughed.

Jazz stiffened fractionally at the joke even as he laughed along, Optimus noticed. Prowl's freezes were in fact quite rare, and never amusing, but they had provided a useful excuse for the tactician to be indisposed at times. Optimus still wondered whose idea it had been to feign the first one in front of the humans, but he doubted it had come from Jazz. Much more likely Prowl's own idea.

Jazz continued the easy banter with the young human until Spike and Bumblebee left, then TIC slumped back in his chair.

"It seems perhaps Prowl is not the only one who could do with some more rest." Optimus suggested gently.

Jazz grunted sourly.

"I don't need the lecture if he wakes up an' finds me there. He's workin' so slaggin' hard on makin' sure we don't have any shared downtime."

~Why is that?~ Optimus asked, shifting to a comm line for privacy. ~Have you two been arguing?~

~Nah, nothin' like that. He's still feelin' a bit guilty that we ended up comin' through together when so many others got left behind or didn't make it. He'll come round, he jus' needs a bit o'time t'make his penance.~

~I see. In that case I am _ordering_ you to go and take a break. And you can tell him from me that he's to schedule you both at least one shift off together a month or I'll start rearranging the schedules myself.~

Jazz had sat up to stare at him and now chuckled.

"I dunno that it's that serious. But sure, I'll go an' I'll tell him. See you in the morning?"

"Indeed. Have a good night."

"Oh we will. No doubt about that."

* * *

Prowl onlined in Jazz's arms and admitted to himself that a few hours in his mate's company had done him a great deal of good. He never relaxed on his own in quite the same way as when Jazz was with him.

He snuggled in a little closer to Jazz, still tired but not nearly as tense as he had been.

"Thank you."

"Silly mech." Jazz teased gently, kissing the centre of his chevron. "Always have t'do it all the hard way, don't ya?"

Prowl did not respond to that, content to just lie there until he drifted back into recharge, but it seemed Jazz had other ideas.

"Hey Prowler?"

"Mm?"

"Why _are_ ya so hard against Blue hookin' up wit' the twins?"

Prowl sighed.

"There are several reasons..."

"I got the time."

Prowl onlined his optics and stared across Jazz's chest to the room beyond, not really seeing it.

"At first I was concerned that they would not take him seriously. Sideswipe has had many lovers and always moved on. Many of them have been Praxians. I did not want to see Bluestreak treated that way."

Jazz took a moment to consider that, one hand trailing absently up and down Prowl's arm.

"Would it've been such a bad thing?" he asked finally.

Prowl was startled and shifted so he could see Jazz's expression.

"To see Bluestreak harmed? Of course!"

"But would he've been harmed?" Jazz persisted seriously. "Sparkles, not everyone's gonna find their lifemate jus' like that. There ain't nothin' wrong wit'havin' a bit o'fun while you're lookin', an' from what I've heard Sides's always been upfront about his intentions."

Prowl looked away.

"You're right. I was hoping he would have what I have with you, and it was unreasonable."

"What makes ya think he ain't found it?"

"Well it wasn't initially clear..."

"Nah, that ain't it." Jazz cut him off. "There's somethin' else you ain't sayin'. Tell me."

Prowl grimaced. Jazz knew him all too well.

"I wanted him to have what I have with you." he repeated softly. "All of it."

Now it was Jazz's turn to be startled, the emotion coming clearly through the muffled bond.

"Y'mean bondin'? Prowler, that's a big step!"

"I know."

"An' none o'your slaggin' business, neither." Jazz continued firmly. "Y'can't play matchmaker over that - they mighta been incompatible."

"Which is why I was hesitant."

Jazz shook his head, clearly struggling with the concept.

"There're plenty o'couples an' groups who're happy enough wit'out this. Look at Prime an' Lita. Or Hide an' Chromia. Bondin' wasn't even all that common before the war; I wouldn't go expectin' everyone t'leap into it no jus' cause things are a bit quieter, or even if the war ended tomorrow, it's just too much."

Prowl splayed his hand over Jazz's chest, trying to articulate what he was feeling.

"I can't imagine how my life would have been if I were not bonded to you, and I don't want to try. And if Bluestreak does not want it, then there is no problem. But he is so scarred by his past, and if he does want that security, that certainty, then how can he even dream of having it with the twins? They're already bonded."

The truth sounded pitiful spoken aloud, but there it was.

Jazz remained silent and still for a worrying moment, then curled one hand around the back of Prowl's helm to draw him down and press their foreheads together.

"Primus bless, you've got such a soft spark." the visored mech murmured. "This is why you're keepin'em apart, hmm? So they don't get so attached they can't pull away? Sparkles, they passed that point a long time ago an' they're doin' jus' fine. I dunno if the twins can bring another into their bond or not, twin bonds aren't the same as love ones, but that's up t'them to find out if they wanna try. For now all they want is t'be together. So let'em. Please?"

Prowl sighed and snuggled back down beside his partner.

"I suppose it would not be fair to do anything less. However it turns out."

* * *

Prowl walked into the rec room, wanting some energon and having removed the convenient dispenser in his office as proof to Jazz that he had truly changed his ways and would take regular breaks. Nevertheless, he still had work to do and he had a datapad in hand and was focused on that too much to notice anything until someone rushed right up to him and hugged him tightly.

Startled into dropping his datapad, he nearly activated his defensive protocols but then recognised his so-called attacker.

"Bluestreak?"

The Praxian hugged him more tightly, uncommonly quiet.

His spark clenched. Had Jazz been wrong? Had the twins not been serious after all?

"Bluestreak, please. Tell me what is wrong."

Bluestreak choked, sounding close to sobbing, but then finally began to speak before Prowl could become more concerned.

"Thank you. I know they're not Praxians, I know they've got bad reputations and I know everyone thinks the worst of them, but they love me, they really do, and I love them back, I do, I just couldn't... couldn't enjoy it unless you were okay with it..."

"The accommodation reallocations." Prowl relaxed, realising finally what this was about.

"It means so much that you trust me, trust them, trust _us_. Thank you."

Prowl shook his head faintly, awkwardly returning the hug.

"Bluestreak, I'm not truly your caretaker. The choice was always yours."

"But I didn't want to disappoint you. I never want that."

"You have never disappointed me." Prowl said firmly, extricating himself finally and meeting Bluestreak's gaze. "Nor do I expect you will now, no matter how this turns out."

"They do love me." Bluestreak assured him.

"Yes." Prowl nodded, then gestured ahead to where the twins were standing, watching anxiously. "It appears that they do."

Bluestreak looked, then looked back at Prowl, who gave him a little push.

"Go." he prompted. "You can speak with me later. Go and be with them."

Bluestreak gave him a dazzling smile in gratitude, then ran to his lovers, drawing them both into a hug and talking rapidly, head bobbing up and down in response to their questions. A moment later, Sideswipe pulled him into a deep kiss that got many others in the rec room applauding and cheering, and yet Prowl felt slightly distant, almost disconnected from the emotional storm around him. Not quite like a processor crash, but something else. Almost lonely?

~Nicely done, love.~ Jazz called on a private channel. ~Better that they're happy, eh?~

~They do seem happy.~ Prowl allowed, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

Jazz put down his cube and moved across the room to him, sliding one arm around his waist.

~It's hard when a sparklin's done wit' his mentorin', eh? Good, but hard.~

~Bluestreak is considerably older than me, as you so often remind me.~

~Yeah but you adopted the three of'em as sure as Prime an' Hide watched over li'l Bumblebee.~

~Perhaps so.~ Prowl mused, then tore his gaze away from where Sunstreaker was now claiming his frie... his mate?... in a kiss just as searing as the one Sideswipe had just bestowed. ~Though it's you they should be thanking, not me.~

Jazz shrugged.

~We come as a set. Same as them, now. Right?~

~Right.~

"Good." Jazz nodded, smiling, raising his voice. "Mechs, I think this calls for a celebration. Break out the high grade an' lets get this party started!"


	92. Part 17: Time passes (when you're having fun), 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 17, chapter 3 of 4

Prowl settled himself in the chair, folding his hands neatly in his lap, mildly impressed at himself for meeting the gaze of the mech on the other side of the desk without flinching. The other mech was clearly less impressed by that feat.

"Well?" Ratchet prompted. "I haven't got all day. What's all this about?"

Typical Ratchet, always moody. Prowl fought the urge to tell him it could wait and responded quietly.

"I would like to set up an examination."

"Well _that_ 's a first - you're actually here to discuss your chronic inability to take the recharge breaks you're supposed to..."

"Not standard maintenance." Prowl interrupted him. "My spark."

Ratchet looked at him sharply.

"You're in pain again? When did that start?"

"No, there is no discomfort."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Prior to the departure from Iacon I was on a treatment regime. I expect that the long stasis period has probably corrected everything since I was informed it would only take a century without the treatment, but I want to be sure there are no further complications."

Ratchet frowned.

"With a spark as fragged up as yours is there'll always be complications. And it's far too soon after the last time for you to even be thinking about another sparkling."

"I never said I had intended another creation now." Prowl began to defend himself.

"But that's what you're thinking." Ratchet cut him off. "Look, you can forget about stasis fixing things - that's the whole point of stasis, everything stays the same. Trust me, you're in exactly the same position as you were at Iacon."

Prowl accepted that bitter news calmly, nodding slowly.

"Very well. I expect you will wish me to resume the treatment regime, in that case."

Ratchet grunted.

"I might _wish_ you to, but there's no chance. We don't have the ingredients here to make it, and even if we did we don't have the equipment to process it. It'll probably heal itself over time. Give it a century or two - _real_ time, not stasis, and our time, not human - and then we'll see how you're going."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time."

Ratchet swore softly and invited him to sit and talk for a bit longer, but he had no interest in platitudes. Learning there was no likelihood for there having been improvement was a disappointment, but he was not going to fall to depression over such a small thing. His primary role was not compromised, and there was a reasonable chance that this would resolve itself given sufficient time.

For now, he would simply need to be patient.

* * *

~So I hear ya went an' saw the Hatchet a few days ago.~ Jazz broached the subject casually as he and Prowl drove around the perimeter.

Prowl had promised him a year ago that he would not spend all his online time in his office, and he had held to that promise. He now alternated deskwork with three patrols per week, plus two shifts on the command deck monitoring systems and at least 4 hours spent with their human allies. He was also spending time with Bluestreak and regularly taking part in social events. Well, in the _Ark_ 's chess competitions, at least.

It was a major improvement, though it was all still tightly scheduled and it did little to ensure he got normal recharge breaks. He had gone from working ridiculous hours in his office, to putting long hours into other activities. Some of them were more restful, and he _was_ taking a proper break at least once a fortnight, but it could still be better.

~It's quite astonishing what you hear when you spend weeks at a time away from the _Ark_ investigating reports of Decepticon activity.~ Prowl responded drily.

~I keep up wit' stuff.~ Jazz agreed blandly.

In fact, in this case, he had been forcibly brought up to date.

It was standard procedure for all ops agents to get a maintenance check on return from missions, and while they were generally little more than quick scans with the kind of work they had been doing lately, this time he had found himself dragged into Ratchet's office as soon as the basics were done and given a long lecture on why he and Prowl had better well not be planning another sparkling.

Which, as far as he knew, they weren't.

~And being the curious bot you are, I suppose you have asked Ratchet to breach patient confidentiality and tell you why I was there.~ Prowl mused.

Something like that.

~The mech's worried he upset ya.~ he said carefully. ~He got the impression you weren't just wantin' a positive answer, but expectin' it too.~

~I was, because it seemed logical, but I did not have all of the facts. Now that I have the correct facts I can see the flaw in my expectations. I have explained this to him several times, and I am losing patience with his insistence that I must be concealing my true feelings on the matter.~

~Fair enough.~ Jazz agreed mildly, pulling up to the marker and transforming to take a good look at the horizon. "This is the end of the route, yeah?"

~Yes.~ Prowl agreed, stopping beside him still in his alt mode.

"Right. Come on then, I got a surprise for ya."

~What sort of surprise?~ Prowl asked uneasily.

~You'll see.~ Jazz assured him, transforming back to his own alt mode and taking off.

He led the way back, refusing to give away any hints as Prowl attempted to guess what he had planned, enjoying the banter. It was good to see his mate so relaxed and made him feel even better about the gift that he had finally gotten ready after several months of effort.

Going inside, he navigated the corridors with ease and finally walked into the room he wanted then turned to grin at his partner.

"Surprise!"

Prowl gave him an exasperated look.

"Having you in my office is hardly a surprise, Jazz. Particularly when you just brought me here yourself. Unless you expect me to be surprised that you're actually encouraging me to work, which I frankly would be."

"That definitely ain't it." Jazz shook his head, stepping aside and letting Prowl see what was behind him. "This is."

The shock and then awe on Prowl's face made it all worthwhile.

"This is..." the door-winged mech began, hesitated, then looked at him in bewilderment. "But it can't be."

"It's a miniature Praxian crystal garden." Jazz beamed back at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the back of the room where the tray had been set up on a low shelf. "I took a coupla crystals from that garden we found in Iacon. Meant t'give'em to ya at the time but things got too crazy an' then I forgot I even had'em. When I found'em I wasn't sure what I could do, I mean this planet's cool but it just ain't got all the right minerals. But I got talkin' t'Percy, an' he an Skyfire helped me mix up a proper environment for it. Next problem was gettin'em t' grow, an' it's taken ages, but they've finally settled."

Prowl reached out and brushed his fingers gently across the delicate new growth, listening to the faint harmonics his touch produced, then withdrew his hand and shook his head.

"It's beautiful, Jazz, but I don't even know where to start on looking after it."

Jazz laughed, gesturing to one side.

"I wrote it all down for ya. An' even found ya some old texts in Teletran's banks on carin' for'em."

Prowl glanced at the pad, then gave a light laugh.

"You know me so well."

Jazz cuddled him from behind.

"Like no-one else, eh? Anyway, I'm glad it's ready now. Ya need somethin' t'look after."

"I have an entire crew of miscreants to keep me busy, including you at times."

"Ain't the same. You've been pinin' since you let Blue go."

"Pining?" Prowl asked, then shook his head. "Bluestreak was an adult long before I was activated. He merely needed someone to listen to him and encourage him."

"Which ya did beautifully." Jazz assured him. "An' when you're all healed up, maybe we can have another sparklin' an' this time raise him ourselves, eh? Who knows, the way things're goin' right now, the war might even be over with by then. You'll _need_ somethin' t'keep ya occupied then."

"And in the meantime you think I should take up gardening as a substitute?" Prowl asked, sounding amused, a good sign that he truly was not as upset about the delay as Ratchet had feared.

"Well why not." Jazz asked. "It's a Praxian thing t'do. Bet Blue'd love t'help ya wit' it."

"I'm sure he will." Prowl agreed, then turned and pressed his helm to Jazz's. "Thank you."

The sentiment was clear and simple, and so was Jazz's answer.

"You're welcome." But then he could not resist adding to it. "So. Will ya _please_ start gettin' more charge?"

Prowl shoved him away.

"I don't wish to have this argument with you when you've just given me such a lovely gift. Go away and let me enjoy it."

"But you're not gonna do any work, right?"

"Out!"

* * *

Silverbolt was still more than a dozen steps away when his chronometer clicked over to the appointed time: midnight. Apparently the officer's meetings had to be held while the humans were asleep to avoid any chance of eavesdropping. To date, he had not been invited, the medics and scientists insisting that it was more important he and his brothers settled in first, but today he had finally been given official 'on duty' status, and he was expected to do at least as much as Hot Spot, the leader of the other gestalt.

He wished Hot Spot were here now, but the Protectobot gestalt was off in New York, so he would have to manage on his own. Determined not to be late to his very first officer's meeting, he stepped into the room to find Prowl sitting alone at the table with a stack of datapads. It confused him.

"Ah... sorry, am I in the right place?"

Prowl keyed something in to the pad he was looking at, not looking up.

"It's good that you're prompt. Have a seat. The others won't be long now."

"Prowl!" a voice snapped from behind him, making him jump. "Those idiots are at it _again_! I thought you were going to deal with that?"

Red Alert stormed up to the table, slamming a pile of pads onto the surface.

"You'll need to be a little more specific than that." Prowl responded, clearly unfazed. "Which idiots, and doing what?"

"Hound and Trailbreaker. And now Perceptor's in on it too!"

"Prime gave them permission for those experiments."

"Experimenting on organic creatures! It's sadistic! And who knows where it will lead!"

Prowl finally looked up.

"They're cultivating a few varieties of flora, not torturing sentients. I highly doubt it will come to anything untoward, besides which they both report to Jazz in this, not to me, so you would be better to take it up with him. Silverbolt, come and sit down."

Ironhide and Perceptor were the next to arrive, the science officer immediately focusing on him as he settled at the table.

"Ah, Silverbolt. I must find time to talk to you and your gestalt about another processor scan. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Give them a few days between interrogations, for Primus' sake." Ratchet huffed, settling beside him and dumping a small mountain of datapads on the table before him which slid everywhere.

"Mind your own advice, doc." Ironhide grunted. "Way I hear it poor First Aid was barely online before ya had him workin'."

"Perceptor," Prowl took over, calmly sifting his own pads out of the mess Ratchet's had caused and returning the medic's ones to him across the table in small neat piles, "I hear you have taken an interest in Hound's garden."

"Oh yes. Organic life is an absolutely fascinating study."

"You'd better not be bringing any of that stuff into the Ark." the tense security director beside him warned. "Or dissecting it without ensuring that it is first completely dead."

"I was given to understand that plants are not any more conscious than drones." Ratchet frowned.

"Even drones can feel pain. And I don't trust those two."

"Which two?" Jazz asked, sauntering in and slipping into the seat beside Ratchet.

"Hound and Trailbreaker." Prowl supplied, folding his hands now that he had finished sorting the pads. "Red Alert has concerns about their plans for the organic flora they are cultivating. You are monitoring their experiments, I assume?"

Jazz leaned back in his chair with a melodramatic sigh.

"Red, they ain't practicing any interrogation techniques on'em, okay? You asked me that already." He paused, then looked back at Prowl. "So where's the boss bot? Not like him to be late."

"He will be along shortly. Did you bring your assessments?"

Jazz smirked and tapped at the side of his head.

"My team ain't that big. I know what I got t'say."

Prowl simply looked at him, and after a moment Jazz sighed and unsubspaced a datapad, skittering it across the table towards the tactician's small pile and threatening to knock it over again. Prowl caught it before it could, and looked over it briefly before nodding and setting it down as Prime finally arrived.

"Prowl - I've just seen the twins. They're out of the brig already?"

"They have been assigned some extra duties - there were mitigating factors. The report is on your desk."

"Indeed. Ratchet?"

"So long as they don't come anywhere near my bay."

"They won't." Prowl assured him. "I've assigned them off base for the day."

"Good. Then that's fine."

"Good." Prime agreed. "So. Duty roster for this orn?"

* * *

Jazz hated these meetings. The novelty of having the Aerialbot at the meeting soon wore off as boring routine took over. They were still trying to sort out the plans for Metroplex, and Jazz had to admit he simply did not care any longer whether the risks were still high - he wanted to get started. They had talked this in circles for far too long.

"As soon as we weld the first join the Cons'll be all over it." Red Alert declared, calmer now than he had been before. "The construction team will have to be ready to fight at a moment's notice."

"What happened to the concealment idea?" Prime asked.

Jazz shook his head.

"We've run some trials, but the site's just too big and the field's too complex. It'd use up our whole energon reserve to power it for just a few orns, even if we could get it to work in the first place."

"It is impractical in any case." Prowl commented. "Holograms would not fool Soundwave's scanners, and even the Seekers would notice mechs heading into an empty valley and disappearing on a regular basis. They are even more likely to launch a major assault out of fear for what we may be building than they are if they can see it for themselves."

"Even so," Prime frowned, "our resources are distinctly finite. We need to ensure that the first stage is completed with a minimum of reconstruction work required."

"Some sections could be pre-fabricated off-site." Perceptor considered, searching through his datapads until he found the one he wanted, then passing it to Jazz to hand over to Prime. "That would reduce the effort."

"They would still need to be delivered and assembled, and that is when the Decepticons are most likely to strike." Prowl pointed out. "The risk would be as high as for constructing them on-site which negates the advantage."

"I assume you have a solution in mind?" Prime asked his second.

"Yes. I recommend we say nothing to any of our troops about Metroplex at all. Instead, we tell them that we are assisting the humans in constructing a new power generation plant. It is not the first time we have done such a thing, so I doubt that they will be suspicious. The Decepticons will undoubtedly discover information on this in short order, but are unlikely to attack immediately because they will want to harness the energy first. By the time they realise that the design is entirely inappropriate for such a facility, we should have the first stage completed."

There was a second's silence, then Jazz slapped his hands together three times, slowly.

"Well done, Prowl! So _that's_ what was keeping you up all night."

Ratchet's expression turned sharp, looking at Prowl who met his gaze evenly.

~Thank you ever so much for that, Jazz.~ he commented drily.

~Toldja I'd get Ratch onto ya if y'didn't sort out your chargin' habits. Hidin' in our quarters t'do your work outside work hours was never gonna fly for long anyway.~

~Clearly not once you were home, at least.~ Prowl huffed, then cut the channel.

Outwardly calm, Prowl handed a pad to Optimus, who scanned it then nodded.

"Very well. We'll consider this our provisional construction plan. Prowl: brief Jazz, Red Alert and Perceptor and I will see you all in my office at fourth shift for your comments. Right, enough time on this. There is work to be done. Dismissed."

Ironhide immediately rose and followed Prime out, talking to him, Red Alert not far behind. Ratchet gathered up his pads, frowning at Prowl.

"I think it's time I scheduled another round of checks. Perhaps just for the officers."

"If you feel there is sufficient medical cause then I would be happy to organise a schedule for such." the tactician responded evenly.

"Sufficient cause? Hah. Don't get me started."

"Come on." Jazz tugged at Silverbolt's arm. "Better get goin' while the goin's good."

* * *

"Don't think I won't remember this." Prowl warned as Jazz walked into their quarters seventeen hours after the meeting.

"An' a good evenin' to you too. I hear the doc restricted you down to twelve hour shifts per day, max."

"Yes."

Jazz cocked his head to the side.

"An' you're just gonna accept that?"

"For the moment it seems advisable."

He bounced over to the couch, throwing his feet up on the low table.

"Y'know, Sparkles, you're actually gettin' wise in your old age."

"However old I become, you will always be significantly older." Prowl pointed out sweetly. "Just how old are you, in fact?"

"Old enough t'not wanna answer that question. So. Anythin' else interestin' happen today?"

Prowl looked at him measuringly, then shook his head.

"I honestly can't tell whether you've heard or not. I thought you would come rushing in here bursting to talk about it, but perhaps you're being perverse. You often are."

"Talk about what?"

Prowl considered him a bit more before responding.

"You were right. Elita One survived."

Jazz's jaw dropped.

"You're kiddin' me. How do we know? Where is she?"

"Still in Iacon, along with several dozen others including Prime's sparkling - who is now a full adult, of course. They apparently never left, convinced that Optimus would return at some point if they just waited."

"But how did they know? We were gone a _long_ time!"

"I don't know." Prowl frowned, looking faintly troubled. "I don't believe she and Optimus are bonded or he would have had the same faith in her continuance, and yet I cannot think of any other way she could have known. Unless you know of one?"

"I dunno, Sparkles. I've never heard of anythin' like it. She comin' here?"

"Not at this stage. She claims it is strategically better for her to remain where she is and be able to feed us intelligence. She is correct in that assessment, but I admire the strength of will to make it. After fifty millennia without you I'm far from convinced I could make the same choice myself."

"Didn't happen."

"No, but it was very close. A few more clicks and you may have been off-ship again when we took off."

Jazz leaned his head against Prowl's shoulder. Being without Prowl for that long was too awful to contemplate. Even with the bond to reassure him that his lover was alive, could he have coped?

"Didn't happen." he repeated, choosing not to dwell on that thought. "So. What'd Prime say?"

"Not a great deal. But he is currently indisposed, not to be disturbed. The same with Ironhide, having learned that Chromia is with Elita. And you're not on the schedule because you've got another mission coming up, and Hot Spot and Silverbolt are in New York. So if anything is going to get done, Ratchet is going to have to give in and let me go back to work."

"Oh you're hopeless." Jazz huffed, shoving away from him. "You ain't upset by the restriction because it ain't gonna happen!"

Prowl smiled and rose.

"I thought I might take a drive and watch the sunset before my shift starts. It might be my last chance for some time now. Join me?"

"Pft. Ratchet's gonna be pissed."

"Was that a yes or a no?"

"Oh Primus, yeah - I ain't seen the doc shout at _you_ for ages! Lets go."


	93. Part 17: Time passes (when you're having fun), 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 17, chapter 4 of 4

Optimus drove along the near-empty highway, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on his panelling.

His meeting with the World Leaders had gone very well and the Autobots now officially had diplomatic status in all but sixteen of Earth's nations. It helped that the Decepticons had finally departed entirely, escaping through the space bridge back to Cybertron. The Earth end of the bridge was constantly guarded and was now sealed within a secure dome shield so that even if it were used, any travellers would be contained.

Perceptor and Skyfire were making great progress in learning to understand and control the technology behind what had always been a Decepticon advantage, and assured him that they would soon be able to replicate it. Soon being in Cybertronian terms, of course, rather than Earth ones; something which would no doubt disappoint their human allies but which was impressively fast in relation to previous estimates. No more than three vorns, they were sure, and they were working hard to reduce that timeframe even further.

It was interesting how Earth had filled them all with impatience. They had been here less than a quarter of a vorn, and yet so much had been accomplished. New ships constructed and in use, the Decepticons routed, Autobot City near completion, and now a formal alliance made with all of the peoples of Earth to help defend the Sol system.

It was nearly time to start pushing outward again, to resume the fight for Cybertron.

"Strange." he mused.

"Prime?" his companion asked politely.

He turned his attention to the mech driving quietly along behind him. Prowl had been reticent over the last two years, working solidly to achieve their goals but seeming to withdraw even more than usual from any activity not directly work related. He was a mech with many secrets, Optimus had decided vorns ago, but where everyone else had relaxed into the near-civilian life of their existence on Earth Prowl had remained slightly awkward. Never quite at ease.

In spite of Prowl's protests to the contrary, Optimus was sure that some of his unhappiness was caused by Jazz's frequent absences. Once the Decepticons were on the move, Jazz's ops team were back at work keeping track of them and trying to discover their plans. It took nearly two full Earth years for a one way trip to Ovacalix in the first ship Wheeljack had designed. The latest models were considerably more efficient and quicker, but it meant that results from the initial missions had been very slow and since Bumblebee was so important to their relations with the humans, it had been Jazz, Mirage and Hound who had been absent for those trips.

Prowl had kept busy as well he could, but once the Decepticons were truly known to be gone from Earth many of the _Ark_ 's inhabitants had scattered to explore and thus were not in need of management. And for someone who thrived on a heavy workload, with no troublemakers to reprimand and no battles to plan for, there had not been enough to do. In the end Prowl had signed up to work for a few years with the Portland Police Department, though he was always careful to ensure he was available if Optimus ever needed him.

Such as on this latest trip, where Prowl's calm demeanour and perfect recall of details had been essential. Prowl had come along willingly where others had groaned and made excuses to get out of the tedious chore. And now the Praxian was waiting patiently for an answer.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Optimus explained his seemingly random comment.

"I was just thinking how strange it is that your original plan actually worked out, if not the way we thought it would. We found a safe haven and we are now in a good position to look again at recovering control of Cybertron."

"It does seem so." Prowl replied placidly.

Optimus waited for awhile but it seemed that Prowl had nothing further to add, so he continued.

"We'll want to retain some sort of presence here on Earth, of course."

"Naturally." Prowl agreed.

"Then we should begin considering who would be best to leave here. I wonder..."

"I have prepared three scenarios which I can present to you when we return to the _Ark_."

Optimus smiled to himself.

"Of course. You always anticipate me, my friend."

"Some requests are predictable." Prowl responded, a little warmth creeping into his tone. "Once Ultra Magnus arrives with the Cybertron refugees we will be able to move quite quickly. Though I'm sure he will wish to speak with you about your decision to make him City Commander rather than have him join you in the battle for Cybertron."

"I want his unit to have a chance to meet the humans and build relationships with them as we have. Their short lifespans give them a view on existence that we did not have, and which I believe has been key to our change in fortune."

"I agree."

"And besides, he and his unit have been fighting on Cybertron while we've been away. It's time they had a rest, and let us take over for awhile. Are we sure Metroplex will be ready in time?"

"Construction is running to schedule, and should be complete three orns before their arrival." Prowl said confidently.

"Good. And of course Jazz should be back by then, too."

"Jazz never misses a party. If at all possible he will be here in time, of that we can all be sure."

* * *

Jazz walked into the near-empty rec room, body freshly clean from the washracks but his thoughts still scattered. There was too much to think about, and he was tired of it. Returning to find the _Ark_ almost devoid of life had not helped his mood, but Prowl was here waiting for him and that was enough.

His mate was now sitting on a couch against a wall, near the large screen that had often showed human tv or video games, but now showed live feed of events a couple of hours drive away courtesy of Blaster. That was where everyone else was, and where he and Prowl should be, but Prowl had insisted that he wash and rest first. Only he did not feel like resting, so here he was back again.

"It's like a little piece o'Cybertron." he murmured, settling into Prowl's lap and looking at the vidscreen's display of the final pieces of the city's construction moving into place. "An' built so fast."

Twelve Earth years, it had taken. The Decepticons had attacked it periodically but never effectively, and had finally given up entirely even before abandoning Earth. They had their own problems, anyway: most of them were starving, and Megatron appeared to become less stable by the orn. It could not continue in this way.

Why was he doing it, Jazz wondered again in frustration. There were endless options for energy sources on Earth. It would have taken very little effort for the Decepticons to remain as healthy as their Autobot counterparts just by soaking up the ambient solar radiation. But instead Megatron had kept them confined deep under the ocean surface and had pushed always for large targets. More often than not the plans failed, and when they succeeded he immediately sent all of their hard-earned energon away, back to Cybertron.

Why?

"You're thinking of the Decepticons again." Prowl guessed, kissing the side of his neck.

"They can't keep this up."

"They _are_ actually our enemies." Prowl reminded him gently, running hands down his sides.

"I ain't forgot that, believe me, but I still don't like watchin' live mechs goin' grey round the edges for no reason at all. Why won't Megatron just get ol' Shocky t' start up one o'the old refineries again an' get'em fed?"

"If we could understand his motivations, perhaps this would all have been over centuries ago." Prowl sighed, leaning his chin on Jazz's shoulder and nuzzling him gently. "You're not in the mood for this tonight, are you?"

"Oh. Sorry, babe. I'm just kinda distracted."

"So I've noticed. You know, there's no actual need for us to do this now. The _Ark_ will still be here after we move in to Autobot City. It might be nice to come back now and again anyway."

"No." Jazz decided, turning around to straddle Prowl's lap. "I'm here. I wanna be here."

"Well that's a relief." Prowl smiled. "I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"How'd you swing this anyway?" Jazz asked curiously. "Aren't we s'posed t'be at the completion ceremony with everyone else?"

"We'll be there. The ceremonies don't start until the final switch is thrown, and I have it on good authority that that will not be happening until two hours past dawn."

"So late? They're all going to be hanging round for nothing all that time? Why?"

"Well," Prowl mused, leaning back against the wall and splaying his doorwings to stabilise himself, not so incidentally also focusing Jazz's attention, "it seems they're going to have some technical difficulties."

"Oh really?" Jazz asked, running his hands along the base of the two doors, smiling as they vibrated in his hands. "And just what did you have to pay to have those technical difficulties planned?"

"Nothing at all. It was payment for the nine separate occasions when I caught certain mechs doing things they shouldn't in public areas where the humans might have seen them. Given the alternative, they were more than happy to assist."

"Do I even wanna know?" Jazz laughed.

"I doubt it. _They_ certainly didn't."

"Y'know, mech, the problem with you is that when you do finally relax, you've got one _wicked_ sense o'humour."

"Ah, well if so it's because I learned from the very best."

* * *

Optimus watched the two black and white mechs transform in the early morning sunlight, Jazz jogging over to him as Prowl went to speak to Wheeljack.

"Did we miss anythin' boss?" Jazz asked.

"As it happens, no."

"Well that's a relief!"

"You're only just back from your mission now?"

"Nah, not exactly. I was a bit messy when I got back, an' Prowl insisted I clean m'self up an' get some charge before we came over. He did my debrief an' I got my report done - you want it now?"

"He wasn't concerned that you may be missing the ceremony?"

"Don't think so. He's had the vidscreen set to show what's goin' on an' Blaster promised to call in when you were startin', anyway." He paused. "Musta been a fairly tedious night if you've all been standin' around doin' nothin' all this time."

"Worse for the humans than for us." Optimus allowed. "But I suppose..."

"Finally!" Blaster exclaimed loudly, then activated his speakers. "Okay! Mechs, femmes, ladies, gents, boys, girls, an' anyone or thing who's out there listenin', we're _finally_ ready t'get started."

"Cool." Jazz nodded.

"Your timing is remarkable." Optimus said drily, certain now that it had all been set up by one or both of his late-arriving senior staff.

"Hey," Jazz chuckled, striking a pose, "the Jazz-man's timin's _always_ been good. An' I'm _never_ too late for a party, ain't that right Blaster?"

"No doubt, Jazz."

"Then lets get this party started."

* * *

_Epilogue - six weeks later  
_

The human media could not get enough of it.

The shots of a real Cybertronian spaceship coming in to land on the wide plain in front of the recently built Autobot City were played over and over for months. Every moment of the arrival was analysed, every disembarking Cybertronian scrutinised, every one of the very few audible exchanges in the alien language interpreted and reinterpreted - mostly incorrectly, since no official translation was ever given.

Within minutes all of the new arrivals were speaking English. Greetings were made; some formal, others more friendly. The strangest of all though, everyone agreed, was a cryptic and heated exclamation from the newly arrived Springer to the very well known and respected Prowl.

It certainly got several of the the Cybertronians laughing - the generally surly Red Alert was practically in hysterics - so most people assumed it was the punchline to some joke. If so, no-one ever gave them the first part but it became a favourite piece of trivia, often quoted by those who considered themselves dedicated fans of the Autobots.

"What do you mean you've _lost_ the override code!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 17.


	94. Part 18: Belief, faith, truth, trust, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 18, chapter 1 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The celebration for the arrival of the ship from Cybertron goes on, but amongst the festivities **you might want tissues** close at hand. Just saying.

The main courtyard of Autobot City was packed, filled with every mech and femme on the planet and at least ten times as many human observers. Friends they had made over the time they had been here, interested bystanders who wanted to be able to say they had attended such an important event, and media to capture the moment for those who could not be present.

~You'd think we were celebrating the end of the war.~ Prowl sent to Jazz as they stood on the podium behind Optimus who was giving yet another interminable speech.

His fifth so far today, this one - to the relief of the humans in the audience - at least in English.

~Hey, it's a big deal!~ Jazz protested. ~It's the first time in this whole pit of a war that the Decepticons've retreated from a planet instead of us.~

~Is it truly a retreat, though? They chose to leave of their own volition, we did not chase them away.~

~Well they've never _chose_ to leave anywhere else.~

~True. And yet, their departure occurred nearly eight years ago so why do this now?~

~Stop bein' such a dim spark. We couldn't celebrate 'til everyone got here.~

~There is no certainty that the enemy won't simply return as abruptly as they departed. It seems premature to be celebrating so effusively.~

~It's good to celebrate. We don't get the chance often enough.~

~You throw parties with remarkable regularity in any case.~

~Not like this one. Look, even if they do come back, right here an' now this is good for morale.~

Prowl felt his lips twitch.

~A logical answer, finally.~

~Oh, is that what you've been after? Shoulda just said. So. How much longer do you think we're gonna have t'stand here?~

~Based on the previous orations, I imagine we'll be here for quite some time yet.~

~Figured as much. Wanna bet I can think of a way t'make it end sooner?~

Prowl leaned back ever so slightly and tilted his head to see Jazz's expression. He was not even attempting to hide his smirk or the glint of mischief in his visor. Whatever he had in mind was going to be embarrassing at best and utterly mortifying at worst.

Straightening again, Prowl edged forward.

"Prime, perhaps it is time for the less formal part of the celebrations to commence." he suggested softly.

Optimus gave no sign of having heard but in a few more sentences he was wrapping up. Jazz nudged Prowl's shoulder.

~Nicely done, Sparkles.~

~Go and enjoy yourself.~

~Oh I will.~

The crowd cheered so loudly that Prowl's doorwings twitched sharply with the vibrations, and then he was startled by Jazz pulling him into an embrace from behind, hands brazenly sliding over his hips. The crowd responded by cheering even louder.

"What are you doing!" he gasped. "The humans are watching!"

"Hey, I'm just celebratin'." Jazz laughed back at him, one hand tickling seams that were making his engine rev, the sound thankfully drowned out in the ambient noise. "They don't suspect nothin'."

With one final caress, Jazz pulled away and launched himself at Prime to wrap the larger mech in a hug, but added a parting shot.

~I'll finish what I started later, with less of an audience, an' that's a promise.~

* * *

Prowl smiled, not resisting as a mech he did not know swept him up into a tight hug then dropped him again. The mech was probably too drunk to even know what planet he was on right now, but it was an undeniably joyous moment: the survival of so many, combined with the recent successes of the Earth-based mechs against the Decepticon command, gave real hope to the idea of not just holding their own but of actually winning this war.

Moving through the crowds of celebrating mechs, Prowl accepted a cube of high-grade from an effusive group who insisted on saluting Praxus in his honour. He was still on duty - someone had to be, in spite of the low risk - but he could keep the drink for later, and he was touched by the gesture even if he had never been there. None of them were at all familiar to him, and the camaraderie amongst strangers was spark-warming.

Everyone was jubilant, and he wondered if he should do something to rein that in a little. There were still a few humans present, after all. The thought occurred to him and was just as quickly dismissed. No-one was endangering them, and Bumblebee was doing a good job of keeping them safe with help from various new arrivals who were curious about their organic allies.

Returning to the peace of the Metroplex command centre he found Red Alert had once again snuck back for just one more check on the security grid. He was already wavering to Inferno's efforts to pull him away, and Prowl dismissed him with a smile and a firm insistence that he not return again for at least a day. Such a surprise to learn that Red Alert and Inferno had actually had a third in their group, one they had believed dead even before the disaster at Iacon. Finding Firestar not only alive but healthy, happy and - in Powerglide's blunt assessment - _horny_ , was more than they had dared dreamed of.

For awhile Prowl sat alone in the command centre monitoring the various instruments with no expectation of a problem, occasionally interrupted by revellers trying to draw him into the festivities. He gently declined, sending each on their way, happy to do this duty and let them enjoy themselves. After all, his own joy was simply having Jazz nearby.

Rising from his station he made a brief round of the office complex just to make sure none of the newcomers had ventured where they should not. Returning to the main room, he toyed with the surveillance screens, idly looking to catch a glimpse of his mercurial mate without making any serious effort. Jazz was loving the party, of course, and understood that Prowl was happiest where he was for now. There had been teasing threats to draw him out later on, once the mania had mostly died down. Jazz was fixated on the idea of dancing with him in the moonlight in full view of their friends to make it clear once and for all that he _could_ enjoy himself when he wanted to, and Prowl had to admit that the idea was appealing.

Abruptly Prowl felt a chill, like ice flowing over his doorwings. A sense of shock and horror smothering him in an instant, and then in the next moment there was the cold emptiness of the bond being firmly blocked.

He was halfway down the corridor before he was aware of moving. Since arriving on Earth, he and Jazz had been in closer proximity for longer continuous periods than ever before, and gradually the blocks between them had eroded until they could usually gauge the other's mood from the far side of the _Ark_. Particularly when strong emotions were involved. Jazz had used that sense to his advantage a few times, drawing Prowl out of long sessions in his office simply by project desire. There was nothing amusing or amorous about this, though: something was wrong.

Jazz appeared ahead of him, clearly rushing to meet him part way, and grabbed his hand, dragging him straight off towards their quarters. A few of the mechs who saw them made lewd comments and Jazz responded in kind, but his real mood did not at all match the light-sparked responses he gave.

Prowl held his peace until they were alone, perturbed when Jazz insistently pressed him towards a chair.

"What's wrong?"

"Sit."

"What's happened?"

Jazz choked, his blocks wavering, and Prowl felt another wave of distress, this one less well concealed now that they were physically so close.

" _What_ , Jazz?"

"Syrenex. It's gone. No survivors."

Prowl sank down into the chair, suddenly numb.

Other bases had been lost in the past. Nowhere was truly safe. This was just one more.

"When?"

"Not long after we left. Seems... seems like some o'the survivors at Iacon tried t'get there to hide. Gave'em away. Prowler..."

Jazz reached out to hug him, but Prowl brushed him away, rising jerkily to pace to the far side of the room, his back to his mate.

"We knew this could happen. The probability of success was low. Even if th-they hadn't..."

He trailed off, his tactical centre providing him with data but it was all meaningless.

A memory intruded. A small form charging in his arms, warm and helpless and trusting...

"No survivors?" he rasped. "They searched? They're sure?"

"It's what I heard." Jazz agreed, wrapping arms around him from behind, holding him close.

Prowl swayed and reached out to the wall to brace himself. Was he crashing? It did not feel like the normal pattern, but he felt distant. Disconnected.

"It was predictable." he whispered. "The probability of success..." Wait, he had already said that. "I knew... I knew it was low..."

"Sparkles..."

He shuddered, shaking his head roughly.

"It was a foolish thing to do. It was inevitable it should end this way. A w-waste! To put so m-much effort in to... to..."

Words failed him, a whine escaping unbidden. He sobbed, leaning harder against the wall, knees and elbows buckling.

His sparkling, the life he had created with Jazz, possibly the only one he would ever carry with his spark so damaged, was gone? All that pain and effort and risk, and it was for nothing? The sparkling he had held in his arms for just those few groons, whose name had not even been assigned, had never had the chance to grow up? To live?

He had known the danger. He had run the scenarios so many times. He had thought himself prepared for if the worst occurred.

He had been wrong.

* * *

Ultra Magnus sent a third message, swearing to himself that if this one was also ignored he was going to take formal action. It was simply unacceptable.

He knew and understood that Optimus had often been limited in terms of the calibre of soldiers at his disposal, and that was never more true than since the _Ark_ 's hasty departure and then crash on this distant planet. It was a blessing of Primus that the Prime had survived at all, let alone with a large enough force to hold their own against a Decepticon force no matter how diminished. But Prime's choice of senior officers had always been of concern to him, and nothing had changed in that regard.

Optimus seemed to delight in finding quirky, irrational and undisciplined mecha to serve him in the most vital of roles. Curveball had been a nightmare to work with, and his replacement was no better. Ratchet - while undeniably valuable as a medic - was hopeless as an officer, rarely involving himself in anything beyond his repair bay walls and equally rarely showing appropriate levels of respect for anyone else. Tripwire had been acceptable, and Red Alert was talented if paranoid, but Blaster was a very poor substitute for Broadcast.

And then there was Prowl.

Magnus had long been alarmed by the mech's rapid rise through the ranks, particularly since Quickquadrant clearly did not think highly of him, but since Optimus was so pleased with him the commander had held his peace. Then when Quickquadrant had died under extremely suspicious circumstances he had tried to appeal to Prime's good sense: Prowl should be watched.

His advice had gone unheeded. Prowl was promoted first to CTO and then later to SIC, presenting outlandishly risky missions as so-called 'tactical planning'. It was true that he sometimes succeeded, but to Magnus's observation it was more a case of good luck than good management. And in the meantime their situation went from grim to dire.

Hundreds of good soldiers had been lost under Prowl's direction, not to mention countless civilians. The disaster of Luciana all by itself should have ensured his demotion. If the mech was not a Decepticon sympathiser then he was grossly incompetent.

Arriving here to such fantastic successes, Magnus had been ready to let bygones be bygones and try again to find some common ground with the Praxian. But knowing he had endorsed this current decadence and was now not at his assigned duty post when the security of the entire Autobot continent was in his hands _and_ was ignoring hails when his negligence was discovered, Magnus's opinion was veering quickly back to where it had started.

Noise from the corridor alerted him to the fact that someone was finally approaching, and he was unhappy to see not just one but in fact two figures in black and white.

Now there was another thing he had forgotten: Prowl had named his lover Third In Command while Prime was injured after the surprise attack on the _Escaphalion_. A lover who had been mysteriously absent at the time of that attack.

If Magnus had his way, neither of these two would have ever gone anywhere without minders.

"Where have you been?" he demanded as Prowl stepped into the room.

"I was called away."

"You were not responding to my calls - too involved in your own matters, I see." Magnus glared at the visored mech who walked behind him.

Prowl's expression remained neutral but Jazz scowled at him.

"He wasn't gone long, an' it's none o'your business why."

"Was there something you needed?" Prowl asked coolly, taking a seat at one of the terminals as though he had not just abandoned his post to go off and frag his sparkmate.

"To discuss the room allocations for my crew." Magnus snapped.

"Room allocations!" Jazz hissed. " _That_ 's the emergency?"

"I gave those to Springer three joors ago."

"And he asked for some changes."

"They were denied. The spaces he requested use of were already allocated to others. If his staff have further requirements they will have to wait for space to become available or for the next phase of construction to be completed."

Magnus loomed over him, annoyed that Prowl did not seem to be at all intimidated.

"Springer is my lieutenant. He should be given better rooms."

"Springer can go frag himself, now back off." Jazz growled, stepping between them.

"Stay out of this, it's nothing to do with you." Magnus warned. "Yet."

"Step aside, Jazz, I do not need your assistance."

"You don't need this nonsense now of all times..." Jazz began heatedly.

"I am asking you to step aside." Prowl said firmly, and after a moment the other mech relented, pacing away and muttering angrily to himself.

"Well?" Magnus demanded, quite certain now that his hails had at least disrupted their pleasure at the worst possible time given Jazz's temper.

"You specifically requested that his accommodation be near your own, and that yours be near to Prime's." Prowl explained in an infuriatingly calm tone. "There are only so many available rooms in that section. A larger suite could be found in a number of other locations, but I will not rehouse mecha who have already settled in."

"But some of those are common soldiers!"

"I will not rehouse those already in place." Prowl repeated implacably.

"Then I'll take this up with Optimus." Magnus growled. "Along with the fact that you had neglected your post for personal gratification!"

Jazz lurched at him, swearing, but Prowl rose quickly and stepped between them, talking the volatile mech down. Magnus stalked out, disgusted by the whole exchange. Things were going to change now he was here. No more insubordination, no more disregard for duty or rank.

He would see to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N #2: *peeks out from hiding place* I suppose you noticed that I **didn't** warn for character death at the start of this chapter? *hides again*


	95. Part 18: Belief, faith, truth, trust, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 18, chapter 2 of 4

"This is quite some party."

Optimus chuckled, surveying the revellers still going strong after two full orns. The humans had mostly departed - a month was a very long time in their reckoning, and the strict rationing of inebriations to ensure no-one over-indulged and the persistence of the mechs to revert to their own native language meant they had quickly gotten bored.

"It has been, indeed." he agreed. "It's been too long we had the liberty to relax in this way."

His companion grunted dubiously, and Optimus turned to him.

"Be kind, Magnus. We deserve this. And I know I saw you enjoying yourself earlier."

"I was." the stiff commander conceded. "But it need not go on for so long. The war has not yet ended."

"Is there something you need?" Optimus asked, determined not to lose his own good cheer.

"I wanted to talk to you about crew placements. For when you leave."

"We have a meeting scheduled to discuss this in four days time."

"I'd prefer to make one change in advance, before anyone is likely to be listening in. It will only take a moment."

Optimus saw Elita walking back towards him and sent her a quick data burst. She frowned but nodded and struck up a conversation with some others nearby.

"Very well. I'm listening."

"I would like to keep Prowl here on Earth for awhile."

"Prowl?" Optimus looked at him in surprise. "He's my second in command and chief battle strategist: I will need him."

"I understand that, but there are others you can call on and it would be best to have someone to act as a liaison with the humans. Someone they know, and someone they know has some rank. Prowl has been involved in almost all of the negotiations held with them. His assistance would be invaluable."

Optimus tried to make sense of what Magnus was saying, wondering if perhaps he were more drunk than he had thought. Magnus had never approved of Prowl, though Optimus had never understood why since the commander usually approved of anyone as militaristic in their thinking as the Praxian tactician. Perhaps that was the answer, then? Maybe Magnus had revised his opinion of Prowl and now wanted to work more closely with him? Optimus had never in his life heard the staid commander refer to anyone as 'invaluable' if they weren't in his own team.

"His role here on Earth has been a product of our need to appear less militaristic in an attempt to allay the concerns of our human allies. It was not meant to be a permanent change."

"And still he is known to them. They trust him."

"The way you say that I almost suspect that you do not." Optimus joked.

Magnus did not smile.

"Prime, I'm not asking anything of him that he has not already been doing. I know he has assistants, and the Decepticons are already on the run; I'm sure you can manage without him for a short while."

He was not being told everything, that was certain. Still, he could see no harm in it. Prowl had been an effective negotiator with the humans, and that task would be complete in a fraction of a vorn. Moreover, if there was any chance that Magnus might actually come to terms with one of Optimus's senior staff, that would be a huge coup. Well worth some small delays.

"Very well. He will stay here until the negotiations with the Europeans are complete, then he will rejoin the fleet."

"I'll go and tell him." Magnus nodded.

"Leave it until the morning." Optimus advised. "There's time enough. Go and enjoy yourself."

Watching Ultra Magnus leave, he smiled as he felt Elita settle down beside him on the ground.

"Don't tell me you're back at work already?"

"Magnus just wanted to confirm some details."

"He's heard about the ops mission?"

"No, something else. Never mind. I have no intention of thinking about strategy again until I must."

* * *

Party over, clean up done and assignments freshly posted, Sideswipe bounced into Prowl's office and dropped down into the visitor's chair.

"I hear Blaster's been made City Comms officer."

"That is correct."

"So he'll be staying here, then."

"Indeed."

"So with Blaster here, how're you gonna relay all your messages on the battlefield?"

"I won't."

"What?"

"Springer is sending the Wreckers with Prime to reclaim Ovacalix; his lieutenant Roadbuster will formulate the in-battle strategy. I will remain here."

"What!"

"Your vocabulary is more extensive than a single word, and I am certain you heard my explanation perfectly clearly."

"But you're Prime's second! You're our tac-chief! You can't just stay _here_!"

"Someone is required to maintain relations with the humans in Prime's absence."

"But there're gonna be plenty of mecha here. Ultra Magnus..."

"Is not yet widely recognised by the humans, and he still needs to learn how to work with them. He is a fine commander, but no diplomat."

"But couldn't someone else do it? Tracks and Powerglide are staying."

"The humans are acutely conscious of the rank held by each of us. There is a high risk they could feel slighted by a change to negotiating with a common soldier. Besides, they do not have the authority to make decisions that need to be made, thus delaying all processes."

Sideswipe gave in, slumping sulkily in the chair.

"We're gonna get torn apart out there without you."

"I'm certain you will manage. The Wreckers know their jobs..."

"Yeah, and don't trust anyone else to know _theirs_."

"They respect you and your brother."

"And treat Blue like a coward Neutral." He paused, an unpleasant thought crossing his mind. "Is Blue staying here too?"

"No. You will need his skills."

That was a strong personal relief but not enough of a reassurance when they were going out to fight.

"We need _yours_."

"Smokescreen and Trailbreaker are going: they have a full set of my analyses."

"Like Springer'll listen to _them_. He hardly listens to _you_."

"Springer isn't going. He is also remaining here."

That news caught him completely off-guard.

"How does _that_ make sense?"

"Ultra Magnus requested that he remain, and Prime agreed. If they are intended to take up control of Metroplex, they need to spend time with the humans and learn to value them."

Sideswipe leaned forward urgently.

"Prowl, you can't stay here with Springer: he _hates_ you."

"Not at all. We merely differ in opinion."

"On everything."

"On many things." Prowl allowed. "Nevertheless, he is a professional and I trust him to do his job and allow me to do mine."

"Ha. And what does Jazz think of that?"

"I have no idea."

"So you haven't told him yet?"

"He is amongst a team who have already left on a mission. When that is complete, he will be going to one of the moon bases above Cybertron. There is much to be done."

"So let me get this straight. You're staying here with the civilians and Magnus and _Springer_ while the rest of us go carry on the fight?"

"That is correct."

"That's _insane_!" Sideswipe exploded, leaping back to his pedes and pacing. "What are you going to do all day? You'll go crazy!"

"I'm sure that need not be your concern. What should concern you is that you have a briefing to attend, starting in a breem."

"So you're not even coming to that?"

"There is little point." He paused, then added reassuringly. "Everything will be fine. Prime knows what he is doing."

* * *

Optimus wandered the quiet corridors of Ovacalix, finding it slightly surreal to be back in the clean and quiet low-atmosphere of a proper base again. Such a short time they had been on Earth, and yet such a profound effect that short time had had on him.

The base itself was in far better condition than he had had any hope to believe it could be. During the evacuation to Iacon it had been sealed, but no-one had believed that that would last long once it was not defended. Strangely, it seemed that the Decepticons had not even attempted to break in, and so it remained entirely intact.

Judging by the reactions of the femmes and the Wreckers, it was even more peculiar for them: not because of any strong attachment to Earth but because they had believed it would surely have been destroyed.

" _Why did you never come to look?"_ Optimus had asked, surprised by their comments.

" _We dared not leave Cybertron."_ Elita had explained. _"Simply moving up to the surface was a high risk; going into the atmosphere was near-certain termination."_

She had gone on to tell him how there had been such a shortage of supplies that the only way to survive was to put everyone in forced stasis for long periods. They had set drones to activate them if there were any signs they might be discovered, and over the centuries - the millennia, in fact - they had been wakened dozens of times. This last time Shockwave's drones had been so agitated that they had been certain it was the end. Instead, they had intercepted communications between the Decepticon scientist and Megatron himself, talking about the survival of many of the Autobots including the Prime.

Ironic, he mused. They had arrived at almost precisely the same solution as the _Ark_ mechs, though in very different circumstances. For all the real time that had passed, subjective time was considerably shorter for both groups.

Not everyone left at Iacon was suited to such a survival strategy. Hot Rod, the sparkling he had intended to take with him on the _Ark_ and who would certainly have perished had he been aboard, had been cared for until he was old enough for the upgrades which would ensure his survival in stasis. Elita and her team had raised him, with him none the wiser as to his true parentage. Then, with him safe, they had joined the others in waiting for help that they were sure would come from the return of the _Ark_.

A return that never occurred.

If they had not chosen stasis, their faith in eventual reunion would have eroded over time. Instead, as with the _Ark_ crew, little time had passed and so they remained strong in their convictions.

Reaching the end of the corridor, he paused. Already he could hear the sounds of life breaking the silence. Ovacalix would be a functional base once more in very little time. From here he could oversee the most important step of the war: the re-taking of Cybertron.

This time there would be no retreating. This time there would be no hesitation.

This time, as on Earth, the Autobots would prevail.

* * *

Jazz looked around his team, absorbing the truth of what their reports told him and watching them do the same.

It was a small team. The newcomers had had many civilians and femmes amongst them, but no ops agents: all that had been left behind at Iacon had perished or vanished. That fact had been something of a disappointment, knowing as Jazz did that their workload was about to increase exponentially, and yet it was also something of a comfort. He knew these three. He trusted them. And they trusted him.

"Question." Bumblebee said finally, the first to speak.

"Go for it." Jazz nodded.

"If all we found were drones, and the only Decepticon we've confirmed is actually _on_ Cybertron, why aren't we just attacking now? The four of us could just take him out."

"Shockwave won't be that easy to surprise." Hound told him. "Besides, just because we haven't seen anyone else doesn't mean they're not there."

"And there is the space bridge to consider." Mirage added. "The bridge end on Earth is not being used, but perhaps a new portal has been set up somewhere else. It is not at all apparent that Shockwave is isolated, though for now he may appear to be so."

"So what do we do?" Bumblebee asked.

"For now, we watch." Jazz shrugged. "A few decaorns of observation'll tell us a lot. We're in no hurry.

Attackin' quickly wit'out good intel is the quickest way to get our soldiers killed, an' that just ain't justified here. The soldier's'll do their bit, but only once we've done ours, an' we've got two jobs t'get done. First is gettin' as much info on Shockwave an' Cybertron as possible, which we've started. Second is findin' Megatron an' his lot an' watchin' _them_. Simple."

"Do you have any other orders for us?" Mirage asked.

"Not right now. Go watch for a bit. We'll get a coupla orns worth o'data before we send anyone down t'look. If we even do then."

Mirage nodded, and rose, leading Hound out, but when Bumblebee moved to follow, Jazz indicated that he should stay.

"What exactly've you told Spike?"

"Just that we're out here to spy on the Decepticons. He's desperate to come and help."

Jazz frowned.

"Does he understand that it might be more than his lifetime before we actually do anything else?"

"I've told him that, but he isn't really listening. Besides, if you're only talking decaorns that's only a few years anyway."

"Which is still a long time for a human." Jazz mused, then tossed over the datapad he had been holding. "Jack's figured out some systems which'd keep him safe over a long period. If Spike'll agree to the rules I'll let him come out. There ain't much immediate danger. But if he breaks any of'em, no matter how minor, I'm sendin' him home. Make sure he gets that loud an' clear."

Bumblebee nodded happily.

"Thanks, Jazz. He'll be really excited."

"Glad someone is." Jazz muttered as the scout headed out of the room.

Being on Earth had spoilt him. He was accustomed to quick results, one way or another. Even the missions he had been on in the last few years had been focused on very short-term results. This surveillance had its purpose and he fully understood it.

He would also fully enforce discipline amongst his team to ensure they did nothing to endanger the mission.

It didn't change the fact that he was tempted to take action himself. He would like to visit Syrenex and see the ruins for himself. He would like Prowl with him, all alone where they could talk without fear of being overheard or interrupted - his mate had returned to his work with a passion after the confrontation with Magnus and there had not been time or space to really talk.

In any case, it would all have to wait. This was the mission. And if they could just win back Cybertron there would be plenty of time in the future to talk and grieve and heal.

* * *

"You wished to see me, commander?"

"Yes, sit down. I wanted to discuss your duties."

"Is there a problem?"

"Well it seems as though you are responsible for a large number of tasks that are not normally part of a senior officer's workload. Your involvement in security matters, for example. You have a perfectly capable security director, yet you retain personal involvement in all disciplinary matters?"

"Red Alert's role is outward facing, ensuring protection against attacks..."

"Yes, but there will be no attacks now since the Decepticons have been chased off-planet and the solar system defences are up and functioning. Or do you have concerns about the humans?"

"The humans have proven themselves good allies."

"Good. Then you can hand discipline over to the security division, where it should have been. I see no reason for you to be directly involved any longer."

Prowl's doorwings twitched faintly at the unanticipated decision. It was not that he was particularly proprietorial about the task, but it had been his personal responsibility for so long that it felt wrong for the changeover to occur so casually.

"I wouldn't worry about how you're going to fill all that spare time." Magnus continued congenially. "Your primary skill set is in data analysis and there is more than enough of that to be done. You can start with these. How many can you have done by dusk tomorrow?"

Prowl accepted the list but did not look at it.

"Tomorrow I have a meeting with the German ambassador."

"Springer will attend in your place. He's dealt with alien species before."

"With all due respect, Ultra Magnus, these negotiations are delicate which I understood to be why..."

"I'm sure you've detailed everything he needs to know in your reports. If not, I suggest you revise them quickly. That's all, you can go."

Prowl stayed in place, and after a few clicks Magnus looked up, irritated.

"I said, you're dismissed."

"I am not convinced that my concerns are being taken into account."

"Your concerns are noted. Go."

"You have yet to hear them."

"I've heard all I need to. Are you going to force me to call security to have you removed? I will, if I have to."

Prowl considered, then rose.

"I will withdraw for now." he agreed. "Perhaps we shall discuss this further at a later stage."

Heading out, he allowed none of his inner turmoil to show as he walked, nodding politely to others he passed, his processor working furiously.

Under normal circumstances he was equal to Magnus: the commanders, he, Jazz and Ratchet were all equal. In a battle situation he outranked Magnus, and even Prime under certain conditions. But this was neither a battle, nor a normal situation.

Magnus had been named City Commander, ranking officer on Earth. For now, Prowl was technically subordinate to him.

He folded his arms across his chest tightly. The last time this had happened, with Nolan, it had quickly spiralled out of control. He could not let that happen again. And yet, what could he do about it?

Why _had_ Prime left him here? Truly to act as an ambassador? But Magnus was already removing that duty from him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Should he complain to the Prime? Or request permission to re-join the fleet at Ovacalix?

Forcing his arms back down to his sides, he walked on. This was for a limited period, and a far briefer one than his stay in the Plutes sector. Even better, Optimus would be visiting periodically, so in the meantime he would act professionally and when the opportunity arose he would confer with the Prime.


	96. Part 18: Belief, faith, truth, trust, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 18, chapter 3 of 4

Optimus frowned at the unexpected news, not at all pleased. It seemed his fragile hopes that Magnus had wanted to try to build a better working relationship with Prowl had been too optimistic.

"I was informed the negotiations were all but complete."

"Yes, they are, finally." the City Commander nodded, handing over a cube of energon. "Here, try this, it's our latest mix. Not quite pure, but it's getting better."

Optimus accepted the cube but set it aside untasted.

"Why then have you asked for Prowl to remain yet again? You do realise I am waiting for him to return to the front line?"

"I understood things were going well?"

"Yes they are, but I will still be needing Prowl to plan the main assault on Cybertron."

"About that... Prime, we've been in this war together right from the beginning. I'd like to think you would trust my opinion."

"I do."

"Well then you'll listen when I say I don't trust this mech." Magnus told him bluntly.

"We've discussed this before..."

"No, you've stopped me every time I've brought it up. But just this once hear me out on this."

Optimus frowned but gestured for him to go on.

"Think about it. He appears from nowhere just when you need him, with all the skills you need. He does crazy things that can only work if he's pulling strings from the other side. Just look at Luciana. If he hadn't put them all in one place we wouldn't have lost all our carriers at once. And we lost the support of all the Neutrals, too. And the _Ark_... who's to say he wasn't behind the whole thing? Setting it up so the _Ark_ was at Iacon, vulnerable to attack.

"Primus knows we've had traitors and double-agents in the ranks before, why not one more? And this one's clever, too. I bet he even had something to do with Quad's deactivation, he was the only one there, remember? He went from nowhere to _Chief_ tactician in under a century. And Quad never really liked him, there's got to be some reason for that."

Optimus looked at the commander appraisingly.

Magnus did not know of Quickquadrant's betrayal, and his theory of Prowl's level of involvement was pure speculation. He had not been there to witness Prowl's horror when he realised that Luciana was being attacked, nor the way he had worked himself almost to deactivation searching for survivors while still coordinating the attack he had prepared.

No. Optimus had as much faith in Prowl's commitment to the cause as he had in Magnus or Ratchet or Elita. He had worked with the mech long enough to feel comfortable in backing him. And yet, he had been wrong before about mechs he trusted and if he was wrong this time he wanted to know about it sooner rather than later.

"You have two Earth years to find some proof." he said finally. "After that, if you have found no evidence you will agree to drop all your suspicions and treat him with the respect his rank deserves."

"That's not long."

"If you are right, it should be long enough. And if you are wrong, then it will not delay us much. And I tell you this now, my friend: I firmly believe that in two years time he will be returning to me."

* * *

In the end, the only chance he got to talk to Optimus privately was as the Prime walked back to the shuttle to leave again. They could have covered the distance much more quickly by driving, but instead walked in root mode, and Optimus broached the topic before he could even begin.

"Prowl, I need you to remain here awhile longer."

It was not what he had hoped to hear.

"Of course I will do as ordered, but may I ask why?"

"No, you may not. You will have to trust that I have my reasons."

"Very well. What would you like me to do? As I'm sure you have discovered I have had very little direct involvement in the negotiations, and I am restricted in how much I can do to assist the battle effort from here."

"You will do whatever Magnus asks of you."

Prowl stiffened.

"Sir, I would very much prefer to have my orders from you directly. To date my interactions with Ultra Magnus have been less than congenial."

"Magnus knows his job, as do you." Optimus dismissed the concern. "It will help me if the two of you can work together effectively, and the best way to ensure that is for you to remain here. You will remain here on Earth under his command until I summon you. Is that understood?"

There was no option.

"Yes sir. Understood."

* * *

Bluestreak sighed as he stared out the window into the star field beyond. The twins had only been gone for a few groons and he already missed them. They had been selected as part of a team to go and investigate a couple of other former Autobot bases in case they held any useful supplies. In theory it would not be dangerous, but no chances were being taken.

As for everyone else it was a matter of continuing the routine and waiting for orders that they were finally going to reclaim Cybertron. A routine that had gone on for nearly three Earth years now.

"Lookin' thoughtful there, Blue. Ev'rythin' okay?"

He turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Jazz! What are you doing here? I thought you were on Moonbase 2 watching Cybertron. Is it time? Really? But wait, Prime isn't here right now, so maybe you're just out of supplies? I can show you where things are if you need anything, just tell me what you're looking for."

"Actually I'm just takin' a few orns leave." Jazz told him.

"Here? Sides'll be sad he missed you, he really wanted to have a go at beating you this time at poker. I still don't see why he likes that human game so much but he does and he says you always beat him when it counts but he's been practising lots and he'll beat you now."

"Well, we'll see about that." Jazz smiled. "Anyway, it'll have t'be on the way back if at all - I'm just here t'get a lift to Earth."

"You're going to see Prowl." Bluestreak realised. " _Good_. Someone needs to go and stop him working too hard. I don't understand why he's still there and not here. Do you know?"

"Sometimes that's the way it goes." Jazz shrugged. "But he'll be takin' a break wit' me, I'll make sure of it. Right now, though, I got a groon before launch - wanna go get a cube an' catch me up on all the gossip?"

"Like you need _me_ to catch you up." Bluestreak teased. "I bet you already know everything anyway."

"Probably." Jazz laughed. "But where's the fun in that? Come on. Pretend I don't."

* * *

It was a prank, Prowl told himself, trying to dispel the dismay that had welled up before he did something he would end up regretting. He needed to be calm about this; it was just someone playing a joke on him. The twins had done such things all the time.

But the twins would never have done _this_.

Maybe it wasn't even an intentional part of the prank, he considered desperately, trying to take in the whole of the devastation but unable to focus beyond the first thing he had seen.

The spray paint on his wall was messy but would wash off. The obscenities and the taunts were easily ignored. He was well aware of what the mecha here thought of him, mostly led by Springer, Hot Rod and Arcee, and he strongly suspected that Ultra Magnus was looking for him to show some sign of weakness, to prove that he was not capable. He did not believe Magnus had had anything directly to do with this but the commander would not hesitate to act upon it if he overreacted.

Kneeling on the floor amongst the shattered glass of the window that had been broken by the intruders - by _amateurs_ , he noted as he saw flecks of paint that could be used to identify them - he sifted through the mess to collect and examine shards of precious crystal. Many of them had fractured, a few had entirely shattered. None were large enough to rebuild what had been lost.

That the tray they had grown in had been knocked carelessly to the floor was bad enough, but adding insult to injury there were pede-prints here. Those responsible had walked on the scattered remnants, perhaps not maliciously but with no care. With no respect.

Liquid splashed down amongst the fragments and he whimpered as another tear quickly followed it, then forced himself to rise and walk away. There was nothing here to salvage. Jazz's precious gift of the crystal garden was destroyed. The best he could do was find out who was responsible and see that Red Alert dealt with them appropriately.

* * *

"Crystals?" Hot Rod said blankly.

Arcee clipped him around the back of the head.

"Yes, you glitch. A crystal garden."

"Inside the house?"

"That's what he says."

"Hey I'm not taking the blame for some silly garden getting damaged. I never even saw it!"

"So it _was_ you who broke in, then?" Springer asked.

"Never said that." Hot Rod backtracked quickly.

"We've caught you on security vid." Arcee sighed. "Or rather, _he_ caught you on the security vid and sent a copy to Red Alert. You're just lucky Blurr was on messenger duty and brought it to me when he saw your name."

Hot Rod winced.

"Uh, maybe it was someone trying to frame me?"

"Nice try. Problem is, he's made a formal complaint."

"Which is fair." Springer pointed out. "Even before you broke something so special."

"I didn't! It's a lie. All I did was some graffiti. It's practically a human tradition. See? I'm learning human stuff. He's the one who keeps complaining that I'm not."

"I'm sure Magnus'll be overjoyed at the example." Arcee huffed.

Hot Rod looked at her in alarm.

"You're not going to tell Magnus are you, Cee? He doesn't need to know."

"There's a formal complaint." Springer reminded him. "Of course she has to tell him."

"Whose side are you on? I thought you hated Prowl. You've gone on about what a slagger he is all my life!"

"He's got a point." Arcee agreed. "You've never had a good word for him. Ever."

Springer shifted uncomfortably.

"I know. But maybe I should have. If Beachcomber and Tracks hadn't taken over the negotiations it would've been a total disaster. And just look at all the slag he's been taking since he got here. He's been a lot more fair than we would've been."

"Fair, or maybe he just doesn't care. It's hard to tell, but I know which one _I_ think it is." Hot Rod grumbled. "And so what if some crystals got broken? _Not_ that I'm saying I did it, because I _didn't_ , but who's to say he didn't just knock them off that table when he was cleaning up!"

"What table?" Springer asked drily as Arcee buried her face in her hands.

"Never mind." Hot Rod hurried on. "My _point_ is that they're just crystals. He can grow some more and everything'll be fine. Simple. So we don't need to tell Magnus. I mean, there's really no need to. Right?"

He watched hopefully as they exchanged a look, then Arcee caved.

"Okay, I'll deal with Prowl. I'll come up with something to tell him. Meantime, you owe me big time. And that's still true _after_ you've apologised to him and repainted his wall."

"But Cee...!"

"Go!"

Grumbling he skulked out into the corridor, but then waited just out of sight to eavesdrop.

"You shouldn't've let him off." Springer said after a moment. "Prowl's Praxian, they've always been crazy about crystals. It might've been really special. And besides, like it or not he's the Second in Command. Roddy should've been in the brig just for the break in alone, even without the rest of it."

"I'm not just doing it for his sake." Arcee admitted. "Magnus wants Prowl stressed, to see how he acts. He thinks Prowl'll fall apart and then we can prove to Prime that he's not fit for the job."

"Really? How's that going?"

"Not well. He doesn't look like he's going to break, but then he doesn't act normally, either. Just look at this - he's Praxian, like you say. He should be swearing vengeance and demanding action, not filing an incident report. He's not _normal_."

"You didn't put Roddy up to it, did you?"

"No of course not. But I'll use it. Anything to get this over with. Honestly I wish he'd just crack already. I'm so sick of it."

"Cee..." Springer said slowly. "What if he doesn't? What if Magnus is wrong?"

Arcee snorted.

"Oh come on. Magnus is never wrong. The mech's either a traitor or a drone, and either way we're going to find out."

Relieved that Arcee wasn't going to let Springer talk her into telling Magnus, Hot Rod headed away. It had been a stupid thing to do but it had been an accident. He hadn't really meant to break anything; he only broke the window because Prowl's lock was so complicated that he didn't even want to try to work it out. It would be boring re-painting that wall, but maybe he could do it while Prowl was working, and then at least he wouldn't have the dour older mech glaring at him the whole time.

He would figure out how to do the apology later. Maybe just write it on an unsigned datapad? Prowl liked datapads, right?

* * *

Jazz roused out of a low power state to the soft chiming of an alert informing him that they had were approaching their destination. Rising, he walked to the front of the cabin, leaning over Windcharger's shoulder to look at the controls.

"How much longer?"

"We'll be landing in half a groon. We just passed through the first defence net."

"I wish Jack an' Percy'd hurry up with gettin' those space bridges workin'. We lose a lotta time travellin'."

"Why would it bother you? You've been napping most of the way."

"True. But I'd rather do my nappin' there."

"Oh that's romantic." the minibot snorted. "Get there and snooze away your leave time."

"I ain't on leave until I've handed over all the new protocols." Jazz pointed out. "But yeah, there ain't nothin' wrong with a bit o'berth time when there's someone to share it with."

"He'll probably be on duty."

"You been spendin' time wit' Gears, Charger? You're kinda negative today."

The minibot cast a dirty look in his direction.

"I'm just tired of the whole 'hurry up and do nothing' plan. When are we actually going to get on with this and fight the Cons? We know where they are. We've got the resources. Lets just get on with it!"

"Prime's got his reasons." Jazz assured him.

"Well he's sure keeping them quiet." Windcharger mumbled.

Jazz settled into a chair, staring out at the planets they were passing. Windcharger had a point. After the Autobots had reclaimed Ovacalix everything had slowed down. It was all surveillance, information gathering, consolidation; plenty for his staff, nothing for the average soldier. And what his agents had been finding made it even worse.

Cybertron was now permanently inhabited by only one known mech: Shockwave. He had built an army of drones to be everywhere and stop any trespassers - a job they did rather poorly - and to gather resources. Cybertron even had natural energon again. Fifty millennia with negligible demand meant that the ecosystem had settled: energy was never lost, after all, simply transmuted into another form.

The fact was, they could reinhabit Cybertron at will with very little effort. The fact was, the Decepticons were down to less than fifty soldiers in total and were all far from Cybertron and without a space bridge link. So why were they not acting on this data? Taking back Cybertron would be a tremendous psychological victory: the first time since the war began that the Autobots would have control of their homeworld.

They were so close now, so unbelievably close to ending the conflict completely. For so long it had seemed an impossible goal but right now they outnumbered the Decepticons: they were better provisioned and better positioned than ever before. They had still not actually won, but for the first time ever it actually seemed possible.

So why delay? It was one question Jazz had not been able to ferret out an answer to. He was hoping that Prowl might be able to tell him, because he had no clue.

* * *

Arcee took her time poring over the datapad in her hand, but in fact she was only pretending to read from it. Pretending, because it had to be one of the most boring reports she had ever had the misfortune to be presented with, and the only reason she was still attempting to do anything with it at all was that the mech responsible was standing to attention just on the other side of her desk, waiting for a response.

To be fair, he had not wanted to write this report any more than she wanted to read it. He had, in fact, told her quite bluntly that it was a complete waste of both his time and hers, and that there were other matters of higher priority that he would prefer to focus on. She had had her reasons for asking for it in the first place, tenuous though they were, but from the moment he began to produce his unfailingly logical and reasonable arguments against it she became stubbornly determined that it should get done. Immature, perhaps, but for the love of Primus she was losing patience with this entire game.

A thread of guilt wound through her thought processes as she stared at the meticulously compiled analyses of the efficacy of the purification filters. It would be a lot easier to play this role if he really were disrespectful. Or incompetent. Or unstable. These were all things she had been told when Magnus had put her in this position, asking her to keep a close watch on this one as a likely troublemaker. Well, Magnus may have had his reasons, but she had seen little evidence of it. And now with Springer questioning the motivation behind the orders, she found herself doubting, too.

"Fine." she said finally, setting it aside. "Now what about the chart I asked you for, showing the crew's battle experience by rank?"

"You have asked me for no such chart." Prowl responded calmly.

"Of course I did." she scowled at him, wondering if he ever showed any emotion at all. "I need it for my meeting with Magnus in a groon."

"There is insufficient time to prepare such a report of any reasonable standard..."

"Well that's your problem. Get me what you can."

He stared at her silently for a moment, and she wondered if this would be the time he finally snapped. She had not asked him for any such report - this was just another little push to try to get him to react. Magnus kept asking her for reports on his conduct, and so far everything had been exemplary. It was becoming ridiculous - either she had to find something to report or Magnus was going to have to accept that he had been wrong.

"I am scheduled for a rest period for the next four groons." he responded finally.

Yes he was, and she knew full well that he had missed the last two scheduled breaks due to her manipulation. This was his fourth on-duty shift in a row, and that surely would be enough to make him react? She was actually looking forward to it: it had to be spectacular after all this build up.

"I'm cancelling it." she told him callously. "Get me that report. And start making notes at these meetings since you don't seem to be capable of recalling the instructions I give. This should have been prioritised ahead of the filter report so that we did not end up in this situation. Now..."

She paused as a message came up on her terminal. A shuttle was landing, carrying Windcharger and Jazz. Prime had specifically requested that Prowl be there to meet them, and then be given leave to spend time with his sparkmate regardless of any other duties assigned.

She grimaced. It was tempting to try to ignore that last part - surely this interference would undo any of the tension she had built up. On the other hand, it wasn't her place to question Prime's orders, and Magnus hadn't specifically told her to do so.

Acknowledging the message, she refocused on the mech before her.

"It seems there has been a change of plan. You are off duty for the next joor, but first you are to meet the occupants of the shuttle arriving at dock seven. Dismissed."


	97. Part 18: Belief, faith, truth, trust, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 18, chapter 4 of 4

From the moment he arrived, Jazz could tell Prowl was distracted. The younger mech was tired but that was nothing unusual: he had probably been overworking, like he always did if he wasn't actively distracted away from his office. This pensive brooding was new though, and Jazz did not like it at all. Nor did he like the fact that Prowl had moved from the central apartment they had had since Metroplex was completed into this new block. When he had asked about that Prowl had said that it had made sense for those stationed long-term on Earth to have the central apartments, and to be fair this was more spacious and even had its own private courtyard, but it just didn't feel right.

Then there was the fact that Prowl had not wanted to go to one of the communal areas to get some energon. It was nice to just spend the time together, but it worried him that Prowl had returned to his more reclusive ways, avoiding socialising.

Still, Prowl was obviously pleased to see him and it was nice to just cuddle up together on the couch, watching the admittedly pleasant view of the setting sun, and talk. Spending time exploring Cybertron again on his reconnaisance missions had revived his memories of how the planet used to be, and made him aware of how much Prowl would need to know in order to pretend he had been there. It was a talk he had been practicing ever since he got approval to come back to Earth, and Prowl listened attentively, occasionally asking questions but mostly happy to just let Jazz ramble.

"Not all my time's been spent on missions." he admitted after awhile. "Had time to do some diggin' in the archives. Took awhile, but there wasn't much else t'keep me occupied, an' after awhile I dredged up my original designation."

Prowl blinked at him.

"You looked it up?"

"Yeah, well you keep askin' me, so I figured..."

"So you truly don't know what it was?" Prowl interrupted him.

"Didn't." Jazz agreed. "An' the name still don't mean a lot t'me now. I knew 'Jazz' wasn't m'name anymore'n Meister was, but it's who I am now."

"So who were you before?"

"Factory worker from Kalis named Rimshot."

"Rimshot." Prowl echoed thoughtfully.

"Yeah, so the records say. I was one o'three commissioned for a new manufacturin' plant they were buildin', the other two were Ricochet an' Stopwatch. Dunno what happened to the other two, but I was bein' picked up by the Enforcers for this an' that pretty much the moment I got my final upgrades, an' then I got shipped off-planet to a refinery on Moon Base 2. Which, funnily enough, is where I'm stationed now."

"So where did your primary accent come from?"

"Curveball, I guess. He's the one who ordered my programmin' wiped - that I know - but who knows, maybe I'd been usin' it before I met him. There were places you could get stuff like that changed if you knew the right mechs t'ask. Some o'the records were corrupted in places but I'm pretty sure I started name swappin' an' gettin' into the less'n legal stuff before I was 250. Guess we got somethin' in common after all, eh? Neither of us wanted t'wait to grow up."

"Rimshot." Prowl considered, then shook his head. "He sounds like a rogue, and not at all suitable as an Autobot officer."

"You could say the same about me." Jazz pointed out.

"Many have."

"Say what?" Jazz blurted, then laughed. "Primus, Prowler. That's the first joke you've cracked since I got here. Caught me by surprise."

Prowl sighed, his gaze drifting a little, and Jazz returned to his earlier concern. Time to push for an answer.

"What ain't ya tellin' me, Sparkles?"

Prowl shook his head firmly.

"I don't want to talk about work, that's my worry not yours. It's nice to have you here, let me just enjoy your company and the peace of not having to think. How is Bluestreak faring with the twins?"

"He's doin' fine, but I ain't gonna be distracted that easy. Talk t'me."

"I'd rather listen to you talk."

Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl's waist and rocked him gently.

"Y'know, I've been thinkin'. That whole agreement we made back on Syrenex has given us nothin' but grief. We only ever bring it up when we're tryin' t'hide somethin', an' that ain't healthy, babe."

"How convenient that such an idea occurs to you now, rather than when you invoke it yourself." Prowl murmured.

"I ain't sayin' there won't be times we gotta keep secrets. But this usin' it to hide behind when stuff goes wrong's gotta stop. I know you're upset about somethin', Primus knows that's the only time you ever clam up like this, an' I don't wanna go back out there leavin' you back here upset. I wanna help."

"And if you can't?"

"Then at least you get t'talk about it. Cause you don't talk to many other'n me, an' most of'em're elsewhere."

Prowl sighed heavily but didn't respond. Jazz waited, rocking him back and forth, content just to hold him but hoping for more. And finally Prowl stirred.

"Optimus has lost faith in me."

The words were so faint he had to replay them through his processor to be certain of what he heard, then he snorted.

"That's daft."

"It's true."

"He toldja that?"

"Not directly. But he... He has left me here indefinitely with Magnus."

There was a spike of anxiety and despair through the bond, but it was masked again before Jazz could properly explore it.

"I thought you were just here til the negotiations for the European defences were done with?"

"That's changed. I don't know why. Jazz, I'm going crazy down here. All I do all day is data analysis, I don't even get put on the patrol roster anymore. It's been months since I've been in my alt form, or even left Metroplex. And Arcee's driving me insane, changing her mind all the time on what she wants done when and demanding information that I'm sure she never asked for..."

"Whoa, put the brakes on there, since when do you take orders from Arcee?" Jazz asked indignantly.

"It's what I've been ordered to do."

"Ordered? By who? By Optimus?"

"No, by Magnus, but he's acting on Prime's orders."

"Doesn't sound like it t' _me_. The boss's is waitin' for you before we make the next push - why would he just keep you here?"

Prowl just shook his head miserably.

"Why the slag haven't you _said_ anythin'?" Jazz demanded, pulling Prowl around in his arms to stare at him.

Prowl avoided his gaze.

"Optimus knows I'm here. He put me here. He told me to do what Magnus asked until he summoned me. If he wanted me back, he would call for me. I must have done something wrong, Jazz, but I don't know what. I spend all my spare time thinking about it and I get nowhere. This is clearly a punishment of some sort but I cannot fathom why or what I could do to remedy my errors."

"But why would he do it like this? If he's angry at someone he usually tells'em straight up." He paused. "Has Springer been givin' you a hard time? Maybe he's behind all this."

Prowl shook his head again.

"I hardly see him, it seems he is avoiding me. Mostly I see only Ultra Magnus and Arcee, and Hot Rod who has taken over Bumblebee's place with Carly and Daniel."

"What does Blaster think of all this? Or Red?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to them in deca-orns. They are very busy and I... they watch me so closely, they don't like me _interfering_..."

The misery was almost palpable now, smothering, and Jazz instinctively pulled Prowl closer, holding him as he started to keen quietly.

"I don't know what to do, Jazz. I was programmed to serve the Prime and he has sent me here, away from him where I have no _purpose_. I don't know how to fix this."

"We'll figure it out, Sparkles. I promise. I'll get to the bottom o'this, just you wait."

* * *

"What the slag is goin' on, boss?"

Optimus looked up in surprise.

"Jazz? I didn't expect you back so soon. Did you enjoy your break?"

"Yeah an' you can stuff your greetin's, too. Why're ya treatin' Prowler like he's got a bad case o'cosmic rust?"

"I'm doing no such thing."

"Sure you are. Why's he down there on Earth playin' admin aide to Maggie's _lieutenants_ when he should be out here doin' his job?"

Optimus frowned.

"I was unaware that he was."

"Well that's no excuse. Clearly Magnus feels he can make him do it, an' Prowler's pretty clear that you said he had to do whatever that chrome-aft said no matter how much he didn't want to. He says he tried t'tell ya what was goin' on an' you wouldn't listen!"

"Jazz, calm down. I have my reasons."

"Which you didn't feel like tellin' him? Primus, boss, _why_? What's he done to deserve this?"

Optimus considered deflecting Jazz's questions, knowing that the mech was unlikely to take this well, but just as quickly decided that any delay would only make it worse. Jazz had an uncanny ability to find out the truth of even the most tightly-held secrets and prevaricating now would only make him angrier when he learned that truth.

"Magnus asked for Prowl to remain on Earth for a short period..." he began.

"So he can slaggin' well persecute him." Jazz growled.

The interjection caught him off-guard.

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Maybe cause that glitch-drone of a lieutenant of his's been doin' nothin' but complain to'im for centuries about how Prowl treated the Wreckers back on the _Escaphalion_. I wasn't even there, but _I've_ heard'im goin' on about it. That mech sure knows how to hold a grudge."

"I was unaware of that."

"So you'll call him back? Right now?"

"No, not yet."

"Why not?"

"Magnus has a theory, based on Prowl's behaviour, that he is in fact a deep cover agent."

"Oh slag me! Prime that's crazy! Prowl's as loyal as they come! If anyone's dodgy, maybe it's Magnus we should be askin' questions of..."

"Jazz, enough." Optimus stopped him, raising his voice and looking at him sternly until his third officer subsided so he could continue. "Prowl has never been anything but loyal to the cause as far as I have ever been able to determine, and I am not convinced Magnus is correct. But he had a compelling theory. Prowl did rise rather quickly through the ranks..."

"Because he knew his stuff." Jazz exploded. "Next you'll be tellin' me you think he planned Luciana to be attacked, too, like the Neutrals say."

"You have to admit, Jazz, the theory has some basis. Prowl's plans have often been grandiose and elaborate, only a step away from absurd in some cases. And in the most important cases, remarkably successful. How is it that the Decepticons have come close, but never actually killed or captured him? But then, why should they wish to if they had an agent that high in our hierarchy?"

"He ain't no spy."

"I believe that." Optimus assured him. "But the theory is still plausible. Which is why I agreed to give Magnus some time to investigate it, and why I could not tell Prowl what was going on. I believed nothing would come of it, and I still believe that, but I could not ignore it."

"You coulda asked me. I told you I checked out everyone an' I did."

"It's in your interest not to look too closely, given your relationship with him. That's not a criticism, Jazz, simply the truth. And that is why I agreed to give Magnus time to find concrete evidence. If he fails to do so within two Earth years, he has agreed to drop all of his accusations and Prowl will return to here. That was the agreement, and unless you can give me strong evidence to the contrary, that is the agreement that will be seen through."

Jazz's fury had evaporated now.

"That makes more sense'n I wanna hear, boss. Fact is, if you _had_ asked me, I mighta suggested somethin' similar. For someone else, anyway. Prowl's... well, I _know_ he's on the level."

"How? Tell me how you know, Jazz. Convince me. Why does he have no history in the faction prior to joining us on the _Ark_? Where had he been?"

Jazz looked conflicted, but folded his arms tightly across his chest.

"He ain't a spy." he repeated more quietly. "Truth is... ah, Primus, he'll hate me for tellin' ya this, but it's the only way, ain't it? Truth is, he ain't got any back story t'tell: he just ain't old enough."

Optimus frowned.

"What are you saying?"

"He was a sparklin' when he came aboard the _Ark_ that first time." Jazz spelt it out plainly, grimacing. "Maggie ain't the first one to worry about where he came from. CB put a whole squad of us on it when he first turned up, an' what we found was that he shoulda been dropped off at the nearest sparkling centre, not recruited. But the fact was you needed another strategist, an' he had the skills, an' he wanted to work."

"But he's Praxian." Optimus floundered. "He had to have been activated before the city was levelled - no-one else ever built those frames."

"Someone else must've." Jazz shrugged. "He might play mentor to Blue and seem like an elder next to Smokey, but he's only a fraction of their age. He's closer to Bee than any of the others in the crew, he just works real hard to make sure no-one ever figures it out."

"Why wasn't I told? Why was he kept on board?"

"I jus'told ya. You needed him. An' he wanted t'be there. An' it made him one o'the few mechs CB ever trusted, because we could track his movements pretty much right back to his activation. It's why he had so much faith in him. Faith I thought you had too, before this. But you're breakin' him, treatin' him like this, lettin' Magnus run roughshod all over him. He ain't gonna tell Maggie what I just told you, so they're gonna keep runnin' in circles until one of'em gives in or goes crazy an' the way it's goin' it ain't gonna take much more for Prowl t'break completely. I _won't_ let that happen, boss. I'll take'im away an' go Neutral first."

Optimus shook his head dazedly.

"A sparkling? But he never acted that way. And... wait. This is why Ratchet was so angry at you at Syrenex, wasn't it? You were sparkmates before he was of age."

Jazz's frown turned into a glower.

"Am I the only fraggin' mech in the galaxy not to know about all that? Yeah, I knew he was underage, but it ain't like we were spendin' much time together wit' all the missions I got sent on. It was a dumb thing to do, but I didn't know it'd hurt him an' he didn't know either. Not that it makes a difference now: it ain't like I'm gonna walk out on him.

"But that's none o'your business anyway. What should matter to you is that you've got an army waitin' to make a move an' gettin' edgy cause they're standin' still, an' your plan-maker's stuck on Earth writin' reports on the quality of the air filtration systems for a femme who doesn' respect him an' a commander who thinks it's good to shut him up in his office for even longer'n he'd normally do himself!"

* * *

The visitors had landed the shuttle and made it to within a few steps of the main complex by the time Ultra Magnus caught up with them.

"Prime! I had not heard you were coming."

"I did not announce my intentions." Optimus told him coolly, striding onwards.

Jazz was with him, Magnus noted, the mech looking more formal and serious than he had ever seen.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Neither answered him, heading inside then turning down a corridor. They were heading for Prowl's office, he realised. But why?

Jazz suddenly split off, moving in a different direction and Prime followed, Magnus keeping pace.

"Optimus, what is going on?" he hissed.

"I've come to retrieve my second in command."

"But I've got another six months yet."

"And what evidence have you gathered?"

"None so far, but..."

"Then I am ending this experiment. I have been presented with compelling evidence to the contrary of your theory, so Prowl will be returning with me. Now."

"What evidence? And from what source? Surely not from Jazz? He's his lover, for pit's sake, of course he'll defend him!"

"I told you I already had serious doubts about your theory, but I was willing to let you try to convince me. That is not the same as giving you permission to demote him to a position subordinate to your own staff. Do you deny that he has been working under Arcee's orders?"

"Well I don't always have time to monitor him personally, and I thought you'd prefer I kept my distance to avoid any accusation of bias. Which I still think is the case with any opinion coming from Jazz!"

"I disagree. The information Jazz gave me was objective and verified by Curveball's reports..."

Optimus broke off sharply as they came around a corner to find Prowl scrubbing the floor with a small brush. Magnus grimaced. He had told Arcee to push him harder to get a response, but this did not look good at all.

"Prime..." he began.

"Not one word." Optimus growled. "Prowl?"

Prowl's attention had been on Jazz who had snatched the brush out of his hand and was helping him up to his pedes, and only now seemed to notice that Prime was present.

"Sir."

"You look tired, Prowl. When did you last recharge?"

"I..." Prowl hesitated, glancing at Magnus, then straightening stiffly. "My shift finishes shortly."

"Jazz tells me you have been doing quadruple shifts recently. Is that true?"

"It has not been scheduled that way." Prowl replied diplomatically. "Some priorities have simply required it."

"Like cleanin' the floors?" Jazz snarled.

"Is this a punishment?" Optimus asked, gesturing to the floor.

Prowl did not answer.

"Who assigned you to this duty? Prowl?"

Still no answer, then Jazz swore and grabbed at him, swinging him round.

"Come on, Prowler, don't freeze up now, _focus_!"

"Ah hah!" Magnus declared triumphantly. "You see, he's incapable of handling stress. He's a liability, and unstable and totally unsuitable for the po..."

He got no further as a black and white blur crossed the distance between them and punched him solidly in the jaw.

* * *

Prowl came online to the dull ache and disorientation that always accompanied one of his rare freezes. He expected to see a medic, but instead it was Jazz looking down at him. Which reminded him of how he had gotten here. Sitting up with his partner's help he found Optimus standing nearby and First Aid tending to Ultra Magnus whose jaw was sitting on a trolley nearby.

"Feelin' better?" Jazz asked, handing him a cube of energon and hopping up on the berth beside him, one arm snaking around his back to hold him close.

"Embarrassed, but at least more rested. What happened?"

"Maggie an' I had a bit of a chat about how he's been treatin' ya."

"You hit him."

"Yeah, that was most of it."

"You should be incarcerated for that." Prowl said absently, feeling dazed.

"Normally so." Optimus nodded, approaching. "However it seems that if Magnus chooses to press charges over this then both Jazz and First Aid intend to press charges over your work schedule since you have been here, which I would strongly endorse. It would also delay your return to Ovacalix. I had hoped you would be able to come now."

"I would be glad to." Prowl nodded and tried to rise but Jazz casually held him back.

"Finish your cube first, or Aid won't letcha go."

"I should be restricting you to here until your energy levels have normalised," the Protectobot medic commented, not turning from his current task, "but I have been convinced to let you go so long as Prime and Jazz ensure you rest on your trip back."

"He'll rest." Jazz promised firmly. "Right, Prowler?"

"I will follow your instructions." Prowl agreed, letting his optics drop offline.

Jazz's arm tensed around him.

"Doc? Somethin's wrong."

"I'm fine." Prowl countered, quickly onlining his optics again, but First Aid was already moving over to him and scanning him.

"Yes you are." he confirmed after a moment. "Just drained. I think perhaps I should put you in medical stasis for the trip."

"Perhaps we should stay for a short while." Optimus considered.

"I ain't havin' him be here a click longer'n he has t'be." Jazz countered angrily. "Only reason I agreed to stayin' this long was that Maggie's s'posed t'be makin' an apology. Which we ain't heard yet."

The commander glared at Jazz but then nodded to Prowl.

~It seems that matters got out of hand.~ he acknowledged across an open comm line. ~I won't question your loyalty further.~

"That ain't what we agreed." Jazz growled. "Keep goin'."

~I apologise for the way you have been treated.~ Magnus continued grudgingly, not sounding at all sorry. ~And I will be making a public statement to that effect.~

"Doesn't sound sincere t'me. Maybe you an' me should go have a little chat in private, eh Maggie?"

"Enough." First Aid interrupted. "Jazz, I will not have you threatening my patients in my bay - behave or you can wait outside. Magnus, go and wait in treatment room 4. I'll send Pipes to you there. Prowl, finish your cube then lie down again and rest. I'll go and mix up some fortified energon for you to take with you."

"Blaster'll make sure it's heard by ev'ryone." Jazz said firmly, watching them go. "The word'll get out. Lets see that fragger try t'do this to anyone else after that."

Prowl shook his head slightly, sipping dutifully at his energon.

"That will undermine confidence in the command team here on Earth."

"Well they're jus' gonna have t'deal wit' that, aren't they? They made this mess, they can clean it up. They'd be doin' a whole lot more'n that if I had _my_ way."

"The matter is not closed, Jazz." Optimus spoke up. "Once Prowl has fully recovered we will discuss this further, as agreed."

The thought of having to discuss these events in detail made Prowl flinch. What had been done to him had been wrong, but it was also true that he had failed entirely to handle this trivial matter himself. Just like with Nolan he had needed to be rescued. Admitting the specifics of that failure to the Prime was almost worse than anything they could have done to him.

"I'd rather end it here and now. All I want is to be back at work."

"They deserve for it to all come out." Jazz told him, rubbing his back comfortingly. "I know there's a whole lot you ain't told me yet. It'll help."

"No, it'll only make them resentful. I'd rather let it go. They didn't physically harm me, Jazz."

"But they made ya feel worthless, an' that's worse."

"For that, you have _my_ sincere apology." Optimus said, stepping forward. "I should have listened when you tried to tell me what was happening. I simply didn't expect them to take it so far."

"I only want to do my job and find a way to end this war, Prime." he said tiredly. "That's all I've ever wanted to do."

"I believe you. It was wrong of me to question that, after all your loyalty and sacrifices."

The careful wording, heavy with insinuation, jolted him to alertness and he looked at Jazz in alarm.

"I told him about your age." Jazz explained apologetically. "Had to, to explain how you couldn'ta been a Con before you joined us."

The tension drained away quickly and he slumped against Jazz, then tried to straighten again, embarrassed.

"I don't know why I'm so dizzy." he complained.

"You'd used up all your reserves." Optimus told him. "The shock of the glitch on top of that nearly drove you into stasis. Prowl, I wished you'd trusted me earlier with the truth about your age."

"You would have sent me away to safety."

Optimus frowned.

"Which is where you should have been, it seems, though at least you were sensible enough to wait until your upgrade into your adult frame."

"We wouldn'ta made it this far wit'out him." Jazz said stoutly, then helped him lie down again. "Stay there until Aid's done wit'ya. I'm gonna go grab some stuff t'bring with us an' I'll meet you two at the shuttle. Anythin' in particular you want brought along I wouldn't think of?"

Prowl shook his head.

"Well then, I won't be long. Prime, you'll keep an optic on him?"

"Of course. It's the least I can do."

* * *

Jazz wasted no time in gathering up a few momentos from Prowl's rooms, noting the strangely amateur paintjob on one of the spare room walls but not able to make sense of what might have happened. He took a few of Prowl's favourite human books, the chess set Chip had given him, and the painting Sunstreaker had done of the two of them in gratitude for accepting their courtship of Bluestreak. Which left only one thing outstanding.

Leaving the accommodation area he headed through to the main administration block. It wasn't too far, but Autobot City was still much larger than the _Ark_ and it took a few minutes. He saw several others he knew, a few of whom tried to get his attention, but he was not in the mood for chatting. Complicit or not, none of the ones based here had made any effort to help Prowl or even to check if he was alright. It would take Jazz time to forgive them that insult to the mech who had saved their lives so many times.

Reaching the secure offices he didn't hesitate to enter the familiar space but was unpleasantly surprised to find the room was not empty. The femme slouching in the chair with her feet up on the corner of the desk froze when she saw him, then leapt up.

"Arcee? What're you doing here?"

"This is my office."

"Your office." Jazz said flatly, stalking inside, his temper rising again. "Femme, this is _Prowl_ 's office. Designed for him by Grapple, built by him an' Hoist, an' out-fitted by Hoist an' Wheeljack. That chair's _his_ chair, designed so he don't have t'cramp his doorwings."

"Magnus put me in here." she said defensively. "Prowl's been given a different office down the hall."

"Then why's most of his datawork still here?" he asked, gesturing to the shelves and stopping just in front of her.

"Because there isn't spa... I mean, it's none of your business, you shouldn't even be in here - I didn't invite you..."

"I'm Third in Command. You don't need t'invite me. I can go where I like. An' Prowl's business is my business, an' what I've been hearin' about the way you've been treatin' him ain't exactly makin' me happy."

He saw alarm cross her face, then be replaced by determination.

"You just don't want to accept the truth. He's a traitor, Magnus knows it, and if you hadn't interfered we would've proved it by now."

"Back off, missy. You're in the wrong an' I ain't got no problem wit' pushin' the point, but I'm in a hurry. I jus' want Prowl's garden an' t'get outta here. You lot can all go frag yourselves for all I care, I'm done wit'ya."

"The crystal garden? It's not here."

"I can see that. Where is it?"

"He took it home when I took over the office. I haven't seen it since."

"Well it ain't there either." Jazz frowned, looming over her. "An' I've known too many liars not to be able t'pick a lie when I'm told one to my face. Where is it?"

"It's the truth! He took it."

"But?"

She squirmed.

"Back off or I'll call security!"

"What's going on here?" a new voice asked from behind him.

"Stay outta this, Springer." he advised. "I'm about ready t'lay inta _you_ just on principle. You _know_ Prowl didn't deserve t'be treated like this. You should all be locked up. Or exiled'd be better, that way we wouldn't have t'deal wit'any of ya again."

"Magnus has his reasons..."

"Frag him. An' frag you too. I've known Cons who'd be ashamed o'what's gone on here. But I'm sick o'talkin' to all o'ya. Where's Prowl's garden?"

"I don't have it." Arcee ground out.

"It's gone." Springer responded almost simultaneously.

Jazz turned around, the answer unexpected.

"Whaddaya mean, gone?"

The triplechanger grimaced.

"There was an accident, it got smashed. It couldn't be saved."

"An accident." Jazz spat. "How coincidental. What kind of accident?"

"For the love of Primus it was just a few crystals...!" Arcee began, then yelped as Jazz reached behind him and grabbed her by the neck, his attention still mostly on Springer.

"How'd it happen?"

"A prank gone wrong." Springer said quickly, his own gaze on Arcee. "Let her down."

"Make a move an' she's gonna need a medic's help before y'get here. What kinda prank?"

"Just some graffiti. It got knocked over. Jazz, it wasn't planned, it wasn't part of anything, it was just an accident. Let her go."

Jazz paced over to him, dragging Arcee along with him, ignoring her attempts to break his grip.

"This doesn't end here." he promised quietly. "Prime's agreed that once Prowl's recovered an' things're settled we're gonna have a full trial. You lot're gonna face justice for this an' that's the only reason I'm lettin' it drop for now. But if any of ya ever so much as _talk_ about'im again, I'll hear about it. An' I'll come back for another conversation wit'ya, an' this time I won't have Prime around t'hold me back. Are we clear?"

Springer nodded quickly but Jazz watched him for several more clicks before dropping Arcee and shoving past the mech.

"Pray I don't have t'come back here lookin' for ya." he called over his shoulder. "Y'really won't like it if I do."

* * *

_Epilogue_

"You should have let it run its course." Prowl sighed as he rearranged the furniture in his new Ovacalix office to suit his preferred layout.

"An' left you there all miserable?" Jazz scoffed. "Sparkles, you were fallin' apart."

"I could have coped for another six months."

"Yeah, an' then what? Chances are Magnus woulda begged for longer. An' without good reason to say no, Prime might've even agreed to it." He paused. "You sure you ain't mad I told him about your age?"

"Revealing the truth of my age was the blackmail Nolan threatened me with. If it had not been still valid at the time I may well have called his bluff just to break his hold over me; I cannot be annoyed with you over something I considered revealing myself. This at least gives an excuse to stop Optimus querying more closely the events at Syrenex. I don't believe Ratchet will volunteer the information about our relationship given his silence thus far, but he may not hold back if asked directly."

"That's very..." Jazz began, then hesitated.

"Logical?"

"Pragmatic, I was gonna say. You know if Prime finds out about the bond, or about you bein' a carrier, he might still act on it even this late in the game."

"Then we must continue to ensure he does not consider it." Prowl said smoothly. "Your revelation about my age has covered that nicely for now. And with the war so close to a positive conclusion, there is no reason why we can't dissuade his interest for just a little longer."

"Mm." Jazz hummed. "Babe, you really need t'rethink this stuff wit'Magnus an' Arcee. They shouldn't just get away wit' all this, it ain't right."

Prowl looked away, making a fuss of straightening the picture hanging on the wall.

"Arcee was following orders, at least so far as she understood them. And Ultra Magnus had his reasons..."

"An' they both went way too far." Jazz cut him off, crossing his arms. "I don't wanna hear ya defend'em, I want the details of what they did. An' if you won't tell me then I'll find other ways o'findin' out."

"Don't." Prowl asked, looking back at him. "Please? Let it lie?"

"It ain't right. An' you know Prime's not happy about it either."

Prowl headed back to the desk, standing by the chair and looking down at the blank screen.

"He shouldn't have to worry about me. He has an entire army to consider. Ultra Magnus is a _good_ commander. He kept the troops on Cybertron together and focused for a very long time when there was no news from us. He found a way to bring them to us on Earth. His staff are perhaps over-committed to him, but I can understand why. They have relied on him for so long, as we rely on the Prime..."

"Prime'd never do this to anyone. It ain't the same."

Prowl sighed.

"At least let us sort out regaining Cybertron first." he suggested. "Once we regain control of the homeworld, then we will have time for less important matters."

"Promise?"

"I promise I will think about it. You will need to be satisfied with that."

His hands twitched over a small pile of datapads, clearly wanting to read through them, and in spite of his frustration with Prowl's determination to avoid dealing with Magnus Jazz couldn't stop himself smiling.

"Straight back to work, huh?"

Doorwings twitched apologetically.

"I need to get back to some normality..."

Jazz nodded and kissed him on the cheek then pushed him down into his chair.

"Course ya do. I get it. Still, I got medical orders to make sure you take proper breaks, so only _one_ joor, ya hear me? If y'ain't back in our quarters a breem after that I'm gonna take drastic action."

"Such as involving Ratchet, I assume?"

Jazz grinned sauntering towards the door.

"Nope, not yet - that's a threat for later if you _really_ push it. For now I'm just gonna tell _Blue_ you're overworkin'. Good luck stoppin' _him_ fussin' over ya. See ya in a joor, Sparkles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 18.


	98. Part 19: The end and the beginning, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 19, chapter 1 of 5

Prowl fought the desire to strangle his mate, or at least to turn off his audials. They had had the same argument repeatedly since he had presented the draft plan to the command team, and while Jazz had finally agreed not to come hurrying back over from his Moon Base he had clearly called in a favour from the comms team because he was now making his unhappiness clear through an encoded long-distance signal direct to Prowl's office.

"I should be there with you."

"No, Jazz, you have your own work to do."

"Then call the twins in. I don't like the idea of you bein' in there alone wit' those slaggers."

"They are not going to harm me, Jazz. I can handle this just fine on my own."

"They wouldn't have to say anything, they could just loom menacingly. Sunny's particularly good at that."

"You told me that you hadn't said anything to them about what happened."

"I didn't have to: you arrived back half-starved an' on the brink o'droppin' into stasis. They're not idiots, they can figure out you musta had help t'get that way. I'll call'em."

"No."

"Frag it all to the pit, Prowler, you don't even have to do this personally. You want these slaggers involved? Fine, get Smokey or Breaker to explain it to them."

"It is my plan, and they will be leading a significant segment of it. And they will be here momentarily so I will have to end this conversation."

"I wanna hear if they so much as look at ya funny." Jazz warned darkly.

"They have already been informed by Prime himself that they are on probation. I doubt they will do anything untoward. It will be fine. Do you want me to call you afterwards to prove I'm still alive?"

There was a brief pause.

"Nah, I pro'ly won't be here... Looks like somethin big's comin' up. But don't let that stop ya if ya need me: promise me you'll call Bee. He'll find me. An' stay close to the twins while those two are on board!"

"Yes, caretaker. May I go and do my work now?"

The response he got back was non-verbal and he cut the line. Then took a moment to settle himself. As calm and firm as he had been when talking this over with Jazz, now that the time was nearly upon him he was very nervous about how this meeting would go.

Perhaps he should have the twins come in after all?

No, that would only confirm their suspicions about what had happened on Earth after he had tried to allay their concerns. In any case, it would not be necessary. He would be fine.

* * *

Springer glanced at Magnus as they waited outside for permission to enter Prowl's office, uncertain what to expect next. Magnus looked no more certain, which was far from reassuring.

They had been ordered to Ovacalix on short notice, and he had assumed it was the start of the threatened legal proceedings though Arcee had not been summonsed along with them. Since Prime's unexpected visit he, Arcee and Magnus had had several long conversations about what had happened, and the evidence was fairly damning. A sparkless drone Prowl might be but he was also the SIC and the cumulative effect was to treat him worse than many Decepticon prisoners. At least prisoners weren't worked into near stasis.

He also still had a bad feeling about that crystal garden. An official complaint had been made and diverted. That alone was a serious offence, without even starting on the property damage or the high probability that the crystals were irreplaceable.

So the trip from Earth had been quiet and tense. Then they had arrived here and been surprised when they were not met by a security delegation, merely an aide who informed them that Prime wanted to see them immediately.

Optimus was not happy with them and the recent events had not been forgotten, that much was made abundantly clear, but that was not why they were here. Instead, they had been called in for their expertise, to assist with a plan to rout the Decepticons from Cybertron once and for all.

A plan devised by none other than Prowl himself.

" _He insists that your skills outweigh any other consideration."_ Prime had told them. _"It's an opinion I don't share, but I trust his judgement. Do not make me question yours any further than I already do."_

~Enter.~ the order finally came, making them both jump.

Walking inside Springer expected to see Jazz hovering at Prowl's shoulder, or perhaps some security mechs, yet Prowl was alone. He was not sure what to make of that. Was this a trap? Were they being watched on security camera?

"Sit down." the tactician instructed, watching them calmly.

"Prowl, I understand that you would..." Magnus began but Prowl cut him off.

"I have not brought you here to discuss that today." he said firmly, watching until Magnus subsided before continuing, looking entirely unflappable.

"I am asking for some professionalism. Our priority should always be defeating the Decepticons, and I would rather focus on that task than dwell upon unfortunate past actions. Ultra Magnus, you are the last remaining commander and have an impressive track record; Springer, the Wreckers are most effective when you are leading them. May I count on your professionalism to ensure you hold to the plan in spite of recent events?"

"Of course." Magnus answered, Springer nodding in agreement.

"Very well." Prowl nodded briskly. "Then this will be the first of several briefings. You will get a more detailed description of the plan in tomorrow's officer's meeting, but I will give you the outline now.

"Prime's team will launch an attack on Cybertron. Simultaneously, you will lead your teams in an assault on Megatron's current location. Yours is intended to be a holding action only, so be ready for the order to retreat, but any opportunity for more should be exploited. Megatron's mental state has been steadily deteriorating since the damage he sustained during the long stasis, and Starscream has been increasingly erratic in his support of their leader. This is partly how we were able to rout them from Earth and it may well work in your favour also. Watch for it, but do not plan around it.

"We have information suggesting that Shockwave is preparing a space bridge connection to Megatron. We must act before that occurs. Any questions?"

After a moment of silence, Prowl nodded shortly and turned back to his terminal.

"Very well. Dismissed."

Magnus bristled at the order but rose and stalked out. Springer paused before following.

"Prowl, what happened on Earth got out of hand. Arcee didn't..."

"I have work to do." Prowl cut him off, not looking up. "This discussion will have to wait until a later date."

Giving up, Springer left. For now they would just have to do as they were told and hope that the attack went well and that that would help their case.

* * *

Sideswipe watched as Magnus and Springer left the office and walked away, not impressed as they began muttering to each other as soon as the door closed. Exactly what these two had done on Earth was still not clear, but it had certainly left both Jazz and Optimus utterly incensed and Prowl in a poor state of health. Having them turn up here now was the perfect chance to find out and to do something about it, since clearly the official channels were blocked. First, though, he wanted to check that they hadn't made anything worse and that Prowl was okay.

Glancing at Sunstreaker he found his twin ready, and together they headed in.

As the door opened he caught a glimpse of Prowl with his helm in his hands, before he straightened and looked totally normal.

"What do you two want?"

"You." Sideswipe said firmly. "It's time you took a break. Blue's waiting for you - he's made goodies."

"I have work to do."

"Well you won't be typing anything with hands shaking like that." Sunstreaker pointed out.

Sideswipe belatedly noticed the fine tremors and glared.

"What the frag did those two just do?"

"We could go ask them." Sunstreaker suggested.

"Once we've got Prowl to Blue." Sideswipe agreed.

"No." Prowl shook his head firmly. "You will not confront Ultra Magnus or Springer. You won't prank them, you won't goad them, you won't have anything to do with them. Is that understood?"

"Tell us what they did, then we'll think about it." Sideswipe offered.

"I asked Jazz not to involve you." Prowl grumbled.

"He didn't." Sunstreaker told him.

"But we'll be sure to ask him now you've confirmed they _did_ do something." Sideswipe added.

Prowl sighed.

"If I come now, will you promise me that you will not interfere with them?"

"You going to promise to tell us why?" Sideswipe asked.

"No. They have done nothing since arriving here, nor will they do so with Prime watching them so closely, and everything else is in the past."

Sunstreaker shrugged.

"Okay, we promise."

/No we don't./ Sideswipe protested. /He's as good as admitted that it's bad./

/Yes, but if Prime's handling it, it's being sorted. And this way at least we'll get to watch without ending up in the brig./

/Good point./

"Right." Sideswipe nodded. "Lets go get those goodies."

* * *

The meeting was very awkward, Optimus sighed inwardly. Prowl was as professional as ever as he talked through the detail of the plans he had written, but Springer kept glancing at the door as if wanting to escape and Magnus mostly glowered sullenly.

The commander had come to Optimus the previous night and tried to talk through his reasoning for the actions that had been taken, but the more he said the more horrified Optimus felt about having left Prowl defenceless in such a position. He had always known Magnus could be a bit stiff and slow to change his opinions, but the mech's willingness to do whatever he saw necessary to reach an end goal disturbed him deeply.

It also made him wonder how they were going to manage if they ever did win this war: how hard would it be for some mechs to go back to civilian life? To be tolerant and forgive and forget?

He had tried to express to Magnus how upset he was, but the commander seemed more sorry about having failed to prove his theory than about the damage done to an innocent colleague. He would try again, though. Magnus was not a bad mech. There had to be a way to make him really see where it had gone wrong. Springer had clearly gotten the message; Magnus remained obstinate.

Without warning, the door opened and a red blur burst in, yelling for him. Springer had a weapon pointed at him before he even stepped inside, but Ironhide didn't seem to notice.

"Prime! We need to get you away - Soundwave is here!"

"I hear no alarms." Prowl pointed out, quickly shutting down the presentation, preparing to leave in spite of his words.

"Jazz brought him in, says he's a prisoner. But it's Soundwave!"

"Wait." Optimus demanded. "Jazz claims he's captured Soundwave?"

"He's here with him right now. Says he wants to talk to you, but that's crazy."

It was indeed, but it was also too unusual to ignore.

"Where are they?"

"Conference room 9."

He headed out, the others hurrying after him.

"This is insane." Ironhide cursed. "Prime, you should at least stay back, let us go first - it's got to be a trap."

"Oh it's definitely that." Ultra Magnus snapped. "That glitching turncoat of a saboteur has finally shown his true colours. I _told you_ you couldn't trust him!"

"Jazz must have his reasons." Prowl said tightly.

"To bring the Decepticon third in command right into Ovacalix!" Springer demanded.

Prime stopped abruptly, turning to face the others.

"I won't have this squabbling until we have all the facts - we have been down that track once already recently. Magnus, Springer, you two are on probation here; hold your opinions until I ask for them. Prowl, do you trust him?"

"Whatever Jazz is doing, he will have done it in the best interests of the cause." Prowl promised.

"How would bringing Soundwave aboard be in our best interests?"

"I don't know."

"He must have given some clue."

"No."

"Guess." Ironhide suggested.

Prowl flicked an annoyed look in his direction before returning his gaze to Optimus.

"I have told you before: we do not interfere with each other's work. He trusts me to do my job, and I trust him to do his. And he has _never_ let us down. Prime, please. You know how long he has worked for the cause. He believes in it. He would not do anything to compromise it or you or us. I am certain of it."

Optimus held his gaze for a long moment before slowly inclining his head.

"Well. We shall see."

* * *

"Here they come." Jazz warned.

A moment later the door opened and Ironhide, Springer and Ultra Magnus swept in, rifles and cannons primed.

"Seems like your folk don't trust you that much." Rumble muttered, noticing that Jazz was targeted as well.

Jazz had noticed that too, and was far from amused. He glared at Magnus who returned the gaze readily and did not adjust his aim. A moment later, Optimus came in with Prowl only a step behind. The fury and betrayal emanating from his bondmate was palpable, and Jazz saw Soundwave flinch at the raw emotion.

"What is the meaning of this?" Optimus asked.

Jazz glanced at Soundwave who spoke reluctantly.

"The war: ended. Megatron: dead."

Jazz expected at least one of them to protest, but they all just stared.

"It's true." he spoke up after a moment. "Starscream, too. I saw their frames m'self, an' so did Raj. They're gone."

"Rumble: explain."

"Yeah, that's why he's got me out here. To talk you all through it." Rumble nodded. "Things haven't been goin' that well with us since we woke up on Earth. You lot've beaten us at every turn, y'know? And even when we were doing okay, Megatron was sending all the energon back to Cybertron. We were _starving_. He was killing us, and he didn't even care!"

"That matches the intelligence we had." Prowl nodded. "But Shockwave had already stockpiled huge reserves - he did not need it."

"We figured that out eventually." Rumble said bitterly. "Starscream went berserk over it when he found out."

"Megatron'd been shorting the Seekers in particular." Jazz put in. "My staff've been commenting on that for years."

"They were glitchy as a broken gestalt, every last one of'em." Rumble spat. "More trouble than they were worth. Always lording it over the rest of us..."

"We can discuss the attributes of Seekers another time." Optimus stopped him. "How did Megatron die?"

"Thundercracker killed him."

"Thundercracker!" Ironhide blurted. "Leaking lubricant! I woulda bet it'd be Starscream!"

"Nah, Screamer wouldn't ever've really gone through with it. He had plenty of chances, but it was all talk."

"Then what did Starscream do?" Optimus asked.

"Aw he took advantage of it quick enough. Proclaimed himself leader of the Decepticons and started issuing orders. But the triplechangers and the gestalts wouldn't listen and it turned into one big battle until Shockwave turned up. He went right up to Screamer, looked him up and down, then shot him through the spark, cold as you like. The Constructicons left with Astrotrain, just took off somewhere by themselves. The Stunticons and Combaticons kept fighting. The Seekers and Coneheads tracked down Shocky and killed _him_ and tried to put Skywarp in charge, but then Blitzwing killed _him_. And that's when _we_ left and came looking for you guys."

"Time for war: over." Soundwave took over. "Time for surrender: now."

Soundwave went down on his knees, and Rumble cursed.

"Surrendering's one thing - you don't have to grovel, boss."

"How many do you speak for?" Optimus asked.

"Myself. My cassettes. Thundercracker."

Jazz frowned.

"You didn't mention him before."

"Complication: irrelevant at earlier stage in negotiation."

"Are there any more o' these complications?" Jazz fumed.

Soundwave made no response, and Jazz growled in irritation. Bringing the mech here had been a risk, but he had thought it was the right thing to do: he had thought Soundwave had been genuine in his request. Now, though, he was beginning to wish he had insisted that Soundwave negotiate with him first.

"If your request is genuine, I'll gladly accept it." Optimus said gravely. "But it has little impact on our relationship with the other Decepticons, so we would have to consider you prisoners of war until the conflict ends."

"Understood." Soundwave nodded.

"Very well. Ironhide, Magnus, Springer. Escort our prisoners to the brig."

Soundwave simply held out his hands for the cuffs that Red Alert was more than happy to apply.

"One more question." Prowl spoke up. "Why did Starscream hate Optimus so much?"

"For interfering."

"What?" Red Alert demanded.

Soundwave stared at them for a moment before continuing.

"Someone attempted to alter his programming, to force him to serve Prime. He fought it, but could never be rid of all the reprogramming."

"That's a lie." Ultra Magnus growled. "It's the Decepticons who reprogrammed mechs, not the Autobots.

"It is fact."

Magnus and Ironhide led the Decepticon out of the room, Springer simply picking Rumble up and following, and Jazz found himself the subject of Prime's direct scrutiny. Prowl seemed distracted by Soundwave's claim, but Optimus was staring and Jazz raised his hands apologetically.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Prowl refocused.

"Such a good idea should not go unrewarded. Prime, I recommend two orns in the brig for failing to follow regulation practice when bringing in a dangerous enemy."

"Agreed. And in a separate wing to Soundwave."

"Fine." Jazz sighed. "I'll go hand myself in. But we did have to get him outta there, boss. The others would've killed him. They already got Ratbat and Buzzsaw, and several of the others are hurt. Rumble's the only one still properly functioning."

"I'll see to it a medic attends them." Prowl assured him. "Now go. And take Mirage with you."

Optimus was clearly startled when Mirage materialised but Jazz was impressed that his mate had picked up on the inference and could tell that the spy was too.

"What was said fits with what we saw." he said simply.

Prowl gestured for them to leave, then nodded to Optimus.

"I will have Blaster check the frequencies for clues. We may yet have other... asylum seekers."

* * *

It was too much to believe, but it was true. After all this time, after all the pain and destruction and loss of life, it had all ended so simply.

There were still Decepticons out there battling each other, mostly Seekers and the remnants of the splitter forces, but there was no coherency to them now that the command element was gone. They were under-resourced and isolated, and they were gradually either killing each other off, or disappearing into uncharted space or surrendering in hope of some fuel.

Back at Ovacalix, Soundwave had given them every piece of data they requested of him - nothing volunteered, but nothing withheld so far either - in exchange for the repair of his remaining cassettes. Squads had been sent out to confirm the intelligence they were being flooded with, and every piece had proven valid: the codes to disarm Cybertron's defences, the command keys to Shockwave's drones, the blueprints and settings for the space bridges. Access to Shockwave's vast energon caches. Decepticon star charts indicating suspected Neutral enclaves and supply depots.

The only thing Soundwave had thus far been unable to help them with was Vector Sigma. The ancient computer had been excavated but was inert, all of the keys lost and none of the priests surviving to know how else to rouse it. There had been some speculation that Optimus may be able to use the Matrix to call on it, but that would be a matter for later investigation.

Messages had been sent out on open channels across the galaxy, carolling the good news. Neutrals and Decepticon defectors were converging on Cybertron, and that was where all of the Autobots were now heading. All the mecha from Autobot City on Earth had come, leaving only Metroplex, staffed temporarily by humans, and the Dinobots who had stubbornly claimed they were not interested in a world they had never seen. In fact, Prime and his command team were amongst the very few not to have reached the homeworld by now. Since it had come so simply in the end, everyone had agreed that they wanted to celebrate by welcoming Prime home. He was to be the last to arrive, and his arrival would mark the start of a party that would make the recent one on Earth look insignificant.

Prowl finished working on the terminal in front of him and turned it off, leaning back in his chair, looking around the empty command deck. Auto defences had been set here at Ovacalix in case of an attack, but there was not likely to be one. In the past few orns they had located and captured all but a few of the remaining senior Decepticons. Reflector and Blitzwing were still missing, last seen heading out into deep space; Swindle was known to be on Cybertron, but Sideswipe swore he and Sunstreaker could track him down and would be happy to bring him in; the Insecticons had attacked a ship near the Plutes sector before disappearing, but had most likely landed on a nearby organic planet.

In terms of power, there was really no-one left to challenge them. All of the gestalts were accounted for; some having come voluntarily, others less so. Astrotrain had been found on a volcanic planetoid with Megatron's shell, babbling about resurrecting him somehow, and was being monitored. Ramjet, Dirge and Thrust, the last intact Seeker trine, had surrendered.

"Ready to go, Prowl?" Optimus called, stepping out of his Ovacalix office and turning off the lights.

Prowl rose.

"Of course, sir."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I simply... could not imagine this orn arriving."

"Truth be told, neither could I." Optimus sighed, looking around. "I fear it will be a difficult transition, returning to a time of peace after so much violence."

"A worthwhile challenge."

Optimus nodded in agreement, his tone warm.

"Indeed. Very well. Let us not keep everyone waiting any longer. We have a celebration to attend."


	99. Part 19: The end and the beginning, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 19, chapter 2 of 5

Jazz shook his head in exasperation as he finally felt the increase in feedback through the bond which told him Prowl was physically near. He had been looking for his partner for quite awhile now, surprised that it had been so difficult to locate him on this mid-sized ship. Not on the bridge with Prime, not in their quarters resting, not even in his on-board office doing some extra bit of work that had belatedly occurred to him. Not even in the recreational spaces celebrating with the others - not that that had ever been all that likely. This option was the last place Jazz had thought of trying but as he opened the door he finally saw his partner in the tactical planning room.

"Heya babe, whatcha doin' in here of all places?"

All of the main screens were completely clear. There were no plans underway, no tactical data feeding into them about enemy movements; nor should there be, now.

Prowl did not acknowledge his question, so he moved closer and stood beside him to look at the panel that held Prowl's attention. It showed the route from Ovacalix to Cybertron, the very one they were currently travelling.

"Prowler?" he prompted again.

Prowl stirred unhappily without looking up.

"Something's wrong."

Jazz's own gaze snapped back to the board and scanned the route. Nothing was out of place.

"Looks okay to me." he ventured after a moment.

Prowl's doorwings flicked in irritation, his entire posture tense.

"I know. I can't see the problem. I can't see it. I've been going through all the telemetry for groons and I still can't _see_ it."

Jazz frowned.

"What makes you so sure there's somethin' to worry about then? You were happy enough wit'everythin' when we left Ovacalix."

Prowl turned to him, his expression uncommonly anxious.

"I don't know. But I can't shake the feeling something awful is going to happen. I failed with Luciana, I failed at Iacon and with Syrenex: I _won't_ fail here."

Jazz shivered a little as Prowl's agitation slipped through the bond to him.

"I'll put some o'mine onto alert." he promised. If anyone's gonna see somethin' it'll be them. Have you asked Smokey or Breaker to look over the data too?"

Prowl grimaced.

"Several times. Trailbreaker is now convinced I am paranoid, and Smokescreen attempted to counsel me on denial."

"Denial?" Jazz asked, watching Prowl's doorwings rise sharply in indignation.

"He believes I wish to prolong the war because that is where I feel most useful." Prowl replied stiffly. "The entire idea is ridiculous, but he is insistent I am looking for trouble out of fear of losing my position, particularly after the misunderstanding with Ultra Magnus." He faltered. "Am I, Jazz? Could that really be true?"

"You've worked hard t'get us to this point, Sparkles." Jazz assured him.

"But he's right. Once the war is over, the need for a battle tactician will be ended. Maybe unconsciously I fear this change..."

"Prime's already said he wants to keep you on as his primary advisor." Jazz reminded him. "You're not just a tac-comp. You have other skills."

"Yes, but..."

" _And_ ," Jazz overrode him, putting his hands on Prowl's hips, "if nothin' else, you have me. An' it'd suit me jus' fine if you had nothin' better t'do than spend time wit'me."

Prowl smiled weakly.

"I'd go insane."

"Mm, but what a way to go." Jazz smirked, leaning in to kiss him.

Prowl accepted the gesture, neither deepening it nor pulling away, and some of the tension seemed to seep away from him.

"We should go back to our quarters if you're in that mood." Prowl muttered when they parted.

"Like anyone's gonna walk in on us now, or like I'd even care if they did." Jazz snorted. "Everyone thinks this whole deck's empty, anyway, that's why it took me this long t'find ya. B'sides, this might be our last chance t'defile your workin' space. I heard they're gonna strip all the warships once we dock t'show the war's really over."

Prowl pulled away abruptly and Jazz sighed. He should have known better than to expect to persuade his partner that easily. But to his surprise Prowl simply locked the door and returned to his arms.

"Really?" he checked.

"Convince me everything's okay?" Prowl begged, tucking his head under Jazz's chin. "Make me believe it?"

"Sparkles..." Jazz began uneasily, disturbed by his partner's odd mood.

"Share your spark with me. _Show_ me everything's okay. Please, Jazz, I need this. Help me?"

* * *

"I'm going to tell him." Bluestreak announced, the statement totally unrelated to anything they had discussed before this latest round of personal celebration, but Sunstreaker knew immediately what he was referring to and knew that his twin did too.

"We know." Sideswipe reminded him, pulling him closer for another kiss. "We already organised this. When we land we're going to go out and watch the official ceremony then we're going to camp out on the steps up to the hub until he heads up there. We already know that's the first thing he's going to do, so it won't take long."

"No." Bluestreak shook his head. "I mean _I'm_ going to tell him. I've been thinking about it and it's just not right. I need to tell him first, on my own. I need to ask him if he'll stand in for my mentor."

"He's not going to say no." Sunstreaker pointed out, idly stroking one of his lover's wide sensor panels.

"He might." Bluestreak fretted. "His own relationship with Jazz probably wasn't approved. I don't think it was priest-witnessed, and that's bad fortune..."

"You don't really care about that, do you Blue?" Sideswipe asked, surprised, and Sunstreaker paused in his ministrations to watch the Praxian too.

"No of course not." Bluestreak assured them with a smile. "But _he_ might. I still don't know which sector of Praxus he's from or what faith denomination, but some took that really seriously. I don't want to upset him, but I really do want him there when we make our pledges, and with all the priests gone the best we can do is do it in front of Prime which is going to be stressful enough, but if Prowl can be with me it'll be just perfect and I just need him to see that."

"But if he thinks it's bad luck, what difference does it make if you ask him alone or with us?" Sunstreaker asked, feeling a bit put out.

"Yeah." Sideswipe frowned. "We knew him before you did."

Bluestreak pulled them both into a hug.

"You know I adore you both. But this is a Praxian thing. It was okay while the war was on, but now we're going home I just... I want to do this right. For all of us. Okay?"

"But I wanted to see his face when you told him." Sideswipe whined.

"He'll probably just crash." Sunstreaker predicted. "You know what that looks like."

"Please?" Bluestreak begged.

"Okay." Sideswipe relented. "You can tell him. But _only_ that you want him to be there when we do the formal sparkmate stuff. _And_ you promise that we get to be there when you tell him how soon you want to have a sparkling."

Bluestreak laughed and kissed them in turn.

"Deal."

* * *

Prowl flinched slightly as Jazz hugged him from behind but kept his gaze fixed on the main screen, not daring to look away for even a click in case he missed something vital.

Sharing with Jazz had helped temporarily, had made him feel whole again and the worry had receded enough for him to shoo his partner away to join some of the parties underway, content enough to relax and try to get some charge. But he had charged poorly and roused with a sense of strong alarm, compelled to run all the way from his quarters back to the bridge to check that everything was still okay. It was, there was still nothing to concern anyone, and yet the calm did nothing to dispel his certainty.

Something was _wrong_.

As they now approached Iacon, the bridge was crowded and noisy. Optimus was standing with Elita and Ultra Magnus; Ironhide and Chromia were chattering loudly and lewdly about their plans of how they were going to spend the next few orns; Springer and Kup were discussing an exploratory mission they wanted to lead to search for others who might not yet have heard about Megatron's defeat. Elsewhere the parties continued, and that was where Jazz had been most recently: Prowl could smell the fumes of high grade and refined oil on him.

The scents just made him feel queasy.

"You're so tense." Jazz murmured. "Relax. We're nearly here an' nothin's happened."

"It's worse." he whispered back. "The closer we get, the worse it is. I feel like I'm going to lose you."

Jazz's arms tightened around him.

"I'm right here, an' I ain't goin' nowhere."

"Don't let go."

He could feel Jazz's confusion, but he could not explain any better than he already had. The feelings were becoming overwhelming. Something dreadful was going to happen and it would separate him from Jazz and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It made no sense, there was no evidence, but the certainty remained.

"Don't let go." he repeated anxiously.

"I won't." Jazz assured him, arms tightening protectively around him, but it was not enough.

Time was running out and he had no idea how to stop it.

* * *

Sideswipe cheered along with the others as Optimus finally appeared and started to descend the ramp. Elita-1 walked at his side, and behind them were Chromia and Ironhide, Ultra Magnus and Kup, and Prowl and Jazz. Ratchet was supposed to be there too but he had stated categorically that he had better things to do than stand around on ceremony and had headed for the nearest bar as soon as they landed, taking much of the crew with him.

Optimus kept his speech mercifully short and the crowd cheered again. He hugged Elita to his side, and behind them Chromia grabbed Ironhide and kissed him passionately drawing even more attention from the crowd.

Sideswipe was about to turn away when he saw Prowl stumble and Jazz reach out to him. The movement was out of place but no-one else seemed to have noticed. Prowl was clinging to Jazz's arm with one hand, the other going to his helm, and Sideswipe began to smile. Prowl was glitching _now_?

But then his smile faded. Jazz was taking this far too seriously, grabbing at him as he sank to his knees. On the few occasions Sideswipe had seen a freeze take him, Prowl had just stopped moving completely. Right now he was curling over as though in pain, which meant it was something very different. Something very wrong.

Others began to notice. Ultra Magnus took a step towards them and Optimus turned. Springer raised a hand to call someone closer. Sideswipe's view was blocked by the others around him now that Prowl was down on the ground, and he tried to squeeze his way forward for a better perspective but it was difficult. Then someone yelled for a medic and the cheering turned to a babble of confusion and concern.

/Sunny! Prowl's hurt!/

/I saw. Someone said it was a Decepticon, but I didn't see anyone. Did you?/

/If it is, they's going to suffer - peace or no peace./

/Get to Blue, make sure he's okay. I'm going to find some ammo. We need to be ready./

/Will do. Shout out if you find anything./

/Like I need the help./

/Bro, I'm warning you now: you don't call me to join in the fun if you find some and I'm going to be _seriously_ mad about it./

* * *

"Ratchet!" Optimus bellowed, then waved at the confused crowd. "Let him through!"

~What's happening?~ Ratchet demanded, shoving at those in his way and trying to get to the centre of the throng.

~Unknown.~ Optimus shifted to the same method of communication since verbal discussion was impossible through the noise. ~He seemed fine right up until the moment he collapsed.~

"Everybody move _back_!" Ironhide roared at the crowd. "Let the medics through!"

It had little effect. The crowd was too large and too agitated. Those at the front had nowhere to go and those behind did not realise that they were the problem as they tried to establish what was going on.

Finally shoving past the last of the onlookers, he found Prowl down on the ground in an uncoordinated heap. Jazz was cradling him close, anxiously watching Top Spin who was kneeling in front of them and using a handheld scanner to run a diagnostic.

"Well?" Ratchet barked at the Wrecker medtech even as he initiated his own scans.

"I can't find the source." Top Spin admitted, readily moving aside. "His systems are shutting down like he's got a primary fault but I can't find a mark on him. No leaks, no viruses. No reasons."

Ratchet grunted, his own investigation reaching the same conclusion but with an added piece of data that changed his initial assessment of 'serious' to 'critical': Prowl's damaged spark was too weak to sustain this level of stress for long at all. Casting about he spotted another of the Wreckers standing nearby, just what he needed.

"You! Whirl! Transform. I need to get him to a clinic _now_ and we'll never make it across the ground. Top Spin - go with them and keep scanning. Send me updates every five clicks."

~First Aid!~ he called simultaneously.

~On my way.~

~Stop. Get Blades to extract you and get back to the Iacon clinic as fast as you can and set up a life support system. I'll get him there but we won't have much time.~

Seeing Top Spin was ready, he crouched down and forced himself to speak slowly and gently.

"Jazz, we neeed to move him."

"I'm stayin' with him."

He wanted to snarl at that but the argument would only waste more time. Jazz was simply responding the same way any bondmate would. He could probably even feel the danger in his own spark, and the only consolation was that unlike Ratchet Jazz could not yet know how serious it truly was.

"Whirl can't carry both of you and Top Spin at the same time. We'll meet him there."

Jazz shook his head tightly.

"He's fadin' on me, Ratch. If I let him go... I can't let him go... I promised I wouldn't..."

"I can save him." Ratchet promised brazenly. "I can save him but you have to let him go _now_. You hear me? Every passing click makes it more dangerous. Now let Top Spin take him and we'll go."

Jazz paused for an agonisingly long three clicks, then rose and lifted Prowl's insensate form up and into Whirl. The copter took off immediately and headed straight for the clinic. Ratchet did not watch him go.

"Prime!" he called as he rose. "I need a path cleared to the clinic."

He turned and took a moment to squeeze Jazz's arm comfortingly.

"We'll sort this. The war's only just ended and I'm not losing anyone now."

Jazz nodded shakily and transformed and they both headed down the path being cleared quickly and yet still all too slowly by Optimus and Ironhide and Ultra Magnus.

He just wished there was some way to convince himself.


	100. Part 19: The end and the beginning, 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 19, chapter 3 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: tissues on hand, maybe? Just in case?

Groons had passed and there was still no information. The medics had disappeared into the nearest clinic and were not letting anyone in, not even Prime himself.

Prime and the other officers... or were they actually _officials_ , now that the war was over?... had been shifted quickly to secure chambers near to the clinic, separated from the milling crowd by a force made up of the old _Ark_ crew. No-one was currently allowed to leave - Ratchet had decreed a quarantine in case whatever was afflicting Prowl turned out to be transmissable - so everyone was edgy and bored and it was a bad combination.

Rumours had spread that Prowl may have been the target of a Decepticon assassin. Within moments there were mecha claiming to have seen this assassin, perhaps a Decepticon, or maybe a Neutral, or maybe even someone with an Autobot insignia. The rumours grew wilder with every telling, but no more helpful, and there was no official information to contradict them.

"What is going on?" Bluestreak groaned, held possessively in Sunstreaker's arms, Sideswipe openly armed and glaring at anyone who came too close. "Why won't they tell us? He can't be _that_ badly hurt, can he? He was fine when we left Ovacalix, I know he was. He stopped by to check I was okay and to offer to come back to Praxus with me when I go so I don't have to go alone, which is nice and he even said Jazz would come along. He would've told me if he was tired or something, and he didn't, he just said he had to do some last stuff once we got off ship and then we could go. Sometimes he doesn't fuel or rest as much as he should and Jazz gets really cross at him but he doesn't seem to change..."

Hound tuned out the agitated Praxian's chatter, optics fixed on the clinic in the distance. This was not a case of exhaustion or underfuelling. Jazz had been in a panic as he raced past on his way to the clinic, and Ratchet had been grim and terse, not angry and shouting as he would have been for a more minor issue.

Mirage appeared abruptly at his side and ushered him a few steps away into an alcove where they would not be so easily overheard.

"Well?" Hound asked anxiously.

Mirage shook his head faintly.

"Not good. They've connected him to life support and forced him into medical stasis but he's still not stabilising. Ratchet has First Aid and Top Spin scouring the archives for treatments and solutions, but from the sounds of it so far they're not finding much."

Hound grimaced, but stayed focused.

"Orders?"

"None. Jazz never noticed me there, even when I pinged him. He's completely focused on Prowl."

"Did anyone mention a cause?"

"No, but they're not talking injuries or attacks. Whatever this is, it isn't a botched assassination. And whatever Ratchet might have promised Prime it does not look as though Prowl will survive to the end of the orn, let alone recover."

* * *

Ratchet looked drained to near stasis Optimus noted as the medic settled in the chair.

"We've got him stabilised."

"Stabilised?" Springer echoed. "After this long, that's _all_?"

"What happened, Ratchet?" Optimus asked, wanting to head off a rant aimed at the triplechanger.

Ratchet glared at both of them, then subsided - obviously too weary to argue unnecessarily.

"We don't know. We still haven't found the cause. His spark's fading and his systems are going into shutdown but we don't know why. I've never seen anything like it."

"But you say he's stable now?" Ultra Magnus checked.

"The deterioration's stopped." Ratchet agreed.

"Does _he_ know what's going on?" Elita asked.

Ratchet shook his head.

"The only way to stop it getting worse was to put him into stasis and take his processors completely offline. If we try powering him up there's a good chance the sequence will complete before he becomes lucid."

"You've got no idea at all what's causing this?" Chromia frowned. "Then what if it hits someone else next? What if it hits _you_?"

The medic shook his head tiredly.

"Right now the best I can say is it doesn't seem to be contagious. But if it hits more of us, there'll be nothing we can do."

* * *

"Jazz?"

He looked up slowly to see First Aid standing beside him, holding a cube of energon. He turned his attention back to Prowl.

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't fuelled all orn." the medic persisted.

Jazz ignored him, gazing at Prowl and leaning his helm against the back of the chair.

For once the medics had not simply thrown him out while they worked - Ratchet had personally dragged this chair into place and ordered him to hold Prowl's hand and keep him with them. He had tried...

...tried and failed. He still held Prowl's hand, but more for his own comfort than anything else: there was no sense of awareness from his lover. Barely even a flicker of presence from his spark.

"You. Talk to me."

Ratchet. Angry Ratchet. Still no treatment plan, then.

"He hasn't fuelled." First Aid reported disapprovingly.

"Not good enough. We'll force it into you one way or another, Jazz, you hear me? I'm not going to lose him now because _you_ collapse."

"What's wrong with him, Ratch? Why's this happening?

Ratchet did not answer him, and First Aid spoke up to fill the awkward silence.

"He's stable now, at least. It's a start, it gives us time to consider treatments and try to track down the causes. There must _be_ a cause. We just have to look at the symptoms and work from there."

"Which would go a lot faster if we had some symptoms to work _from_." Ratchet grunted, walking around the berth and typing something into a terminal there. "Jazz, you're _sure_ there weren't any signs?"

Jazz shook his head tiredly.

"I toldja before. He was worryin' about an attack, that's all. Ask Smokey an' Breaker, they'll ya the same."

"I have, and they did." Ratchet told him sharply. "They're both feeling guilty they didn't listen more closely, but nothing they had to say would fit with this. Are you sure he didn't say _anything_ else?"

Jazz offlined his optics, remembering the overwhelming anxiety Prowl had suffered as they had landed. Yet how could that be part of this? Prowl himself had not been able to explain the fear that was gripping him, and his only articulation of it had been in concern for others, nothing at all for himself.

"He was worried." he shrugged helplessly.

"Words, Jazz." Ratchet persisted. "Anything at all. What did he say?"

"He said... he said it got worse, the closer to Cybertron we got."

"What got worse?" First Aid demanded, latching on to the new data.

"His worrying. His..." He hesitated. "His fear. He said he was afraid he was going to lose me."

"Why?" Ratchet demanded.

Jazz onlined his optics again and stared at the medic over Prowl's prone form.

"He didn't know. He knew it wasn't logical, but he couldn't shake it. He made me promise I'd stay with him, an' he was happiest so long as he could see me there. When we landed he said he wanted t'go straight to the command hub after the speeches, jus'to confirm everything was really okay. He wasn't expectin'... whatever this is. He wasn't feelin' sick or worried about himself. He didn't _know_. An' it hit so fast... Slag it, Ratchet, you must have _some_ idea. What _is_ this?"

Ratchet's shoulders slumped.

"I don't know, Jazz. I thought I'd seen everything by now, but this? I've never seen anything like this."

"Ratchet?" Top Spin called from the doorway. "Prime wants you to come with him to talk to Alpha Trion."

"Alpha Trion?" First Aid echoed curiously.

Ratchet grunted.

"Prime thinks he might have some ideas. He's a crackpot - thinks he's one of the original Thirteen and expects everyone to believe it - but he was the one who saved Elita and Optimus and gave Optimus the Matrix. Top Spin, you stay here with Aid and keep on with searching the archives. If anything changes, you call me immediately. Immediately, you hear? I'll be back soon. And get Jazz to eat something!"

* * *

"Jazz? May I speak with you?"

The femme's voice that drew him out of his murky thoughts was vaguely familiar but he could not place it. Very strange, though. Ratchet had been insistent that only medics were allowed access to this room while they decided what to do.

Jazz was tempted to just tell her to go away, whoever it was, but on the slight off-chance that it was Elita and his distraction had distorted his hearing, he turned to look first. As he focused, his processors stuttered.

"Circuitbreaker?"

The medic approached quietly, looking uncomfortable.

"I'd understand if you didn't want to talk to me. The last time we saw each other I acted very unprofessionally..."

"You survived?" he cut her off. "How? Where've you been? Syrenex was destroyed!"

"We weren't there. After Prime left everyone was uneasy about staying in one place, even as well hidden as we were. And then a ship arrived with refugees from Iacon, telling us what had happened. They said that Optimus Prime was dead and that the _Ark_ was damaged and all the Autobots would die. They wanted safety, but as more arrived we knew they'd bring Decepticons following, so some of us took their ship and the sparklings and left. We headed away from Cybertron and just kept going until we were nearly out of supplies and then found somewhere to stop. We've lived there ever since with no contact with anyone else, but when the broadcast went out that the war was over a few of us came back here to see if it was true."

Jazz tightened his grip on Prowl's hand, needing something to anchor him as he took in the truth.

"The sparklings... _our_ sparkling... survived?"

She nodded readily.

"Quickspan was easily the brightest of the group and helped keep the other sparklings calm while we fled. He mourned you both centuries ago without having ever really known you. I told him the truth; there was no reason not to when we thought you were dead and of course he's a carrier himself. He insisted on coming here, the only one of that cohort who did, because there was a chance he might actually get to meet you both. Arriving to hear that Prowl had collapsed before we could even get here has been difficult for him to accept. How is he?"

Jazz offlined his optics.

"Gimme a breem t'take all this in, will ya?" he begged.

Their sparkling - now named Quickspan? - was of course no longer a sparkling. He had survived. He had grown up. He had mourned _them_. Primus, he knew Prowl was a carrier, one of the secrets that they had dared not allow to be known... but with the war over, did it matter? The risk of demotion to civilian was no longer a threat, and in any case Prowl was still centuries off knowing if he could ever carry again.

If he had centuries.

If he survived.

"He's here?" he asked hoarsely.

"Waiting outside. He's not allowed in because of Ratchet's orders, but you could come out and talk to him..."

_Don't let go._

"No." he cut her off. "No, I have to stay here."

"Then could you at least talk to Ratchet and ask him if Quickspan could come in? What _is_ wrong with Prowl, anyway? It can't be anything contagious or he would be in containment."

Jazz looked at his mate lying still on the berth, surrounded by monitoring equipment. He could sense nothing from him beyond the general hum of proximity. No acknowledgement of his presence.

Prowl was the one who had wanted a sparkling. Jazz had been caught by surprise by the idea but had feared it would end badly and had not wanted Prowl to suffer through that grief. The mech got so attached to those who looked up to him, and failing a sparkling would cut him deeply. Still, he had set his worries aside in the face of Prowl's assurances that he was prepared for the worst.

For once, Prowl had been completely wrong. They had had no concept of what the worst might be.

Bad enough to learn about the damage he had unknowingly done to Prowl's spark, the danger he had put his mate in, and worse to learn the extent of the pain Prowl had endured without complaint. But at least it had worked out in the end and the sparkling had been healthy and Prowl had mostly recovered.

Then they learned that Syrenex had been destroyed, and the realisation of what that meant had all but crushed them both. Jazz had not expected to be so affected personally, having focused all his attention on his mate's diminished health prior to leaving Syrenex, but the casual words at the party had cut through him like a laser strike. Prowl had immediately reacted to his shock so there had been no choice but to tell him immediately and he had taken it so hard.

There had been so little time to adjust to that knowledge before Magnus had stepped in and made things worse, and afterwards Prowl had refused to discuss the matter at all. He wasn't ready to talk about it, was all he would say.

Abruptly Jazz knew with certainty that he did not want to see Quickspan on his own. Quickspan only existed because Prowl had been so insistent, because Prowl had wanted him to. Prowl was the one who deserved to see him and Prowl's original argument - that they would leave something of value behind - seemed prescient now.

Prowl was dying: all Ratchet's skill and knowledge seemed worthless in the face of whatever this was, and when Prowl died Jazz would die too. Quickspan had grown up without them and did not need them, did not know them at all, and Jazz was at a total loss to know what he could say. How could he put into words all that had happened? How could he adequately describe what Prowl was, and why he was that way? That Prowl had had such a screwed up life and had faced so many challenges and that the one selfish act he had ever indulged in was to create a new life that he had always known he would have to leave behind. A new life whose supposed loss he was still struggling to come to terms with.

"No." he said softly. "No, he can't come in. An' you've gotta go. Prowl's... Prowl's gotta be my focus right now. I can't be thinkin' 'bout anythin' else. We'll see Quickspan t'gether when this is over."

One way or another, here or in the Well of Allsparks, he would meet his creation only with Prowl at his side.


	101. Part 19: The end and the beginning, 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 19, chapter 4 of 5

The crowds in the courtyard had dispersed, muted celebrations springing up all over the ruined city mostly led by those who had not been part of the _Ark_ crew. Those who knew Prowl personally were generally still close by, waiting for news. The lack of information as time passed only made it harder to abandon the vigil, and most were settled in small groups within line of sight of the clinic doors.

Nearest to the clinic itself, the twins had settled with Bluestreak. They asked for updates every time a medic emerged, and so far the only result was that the medics had started using other exits to avoid them. Except for Ratchet. The CMO had paused on his way out, looking at them each in turn before shaking his head and promising he would tell them personally the moment there was any news.

Never the most patient of bots, Sunstreaker had not managed to wait for long before storming off, looking for a fight. Sideswipe felt much the same but Bluestreak needed company so he remained sitting on the ground, Bluestreak leaning up against him. He was drifting in a low power mode when Bluestreak abruptly rose and hurried off around the corner of the clinic building without a word of explanation. Startled, Sideswipe followed and found him interrogating an unfamiliar mech with no faction symbol. A Praxian in primarily dark blue and gold colouring.

"Who _are_ you?" Bluestreak was demanding as Sideswipe approached. "I thought Smokescreen, Prowl and I were the last Praxians left."

"I'm not Praxian." the stranger agreed. "Or at least, I'm not in the sense that I never knew Praxus. This is the first time I've even been to Cybertron, for that matter. My name is Quickspan and I was activated on Syrenex."

"Gotta find a better lie than that." Sideswipe challenged him. "Syrenex was destroyed."

"It was." Quickspan agreed. "But we fled before that. We escaped and have been living safely elsewhere."

"Oh yeah? Like where? And now you've mysteriously turned up again, just like that? Strange you show up just after one of our officers gets attacked."

"We heard the call that the war was over and the Prime was returning to Iacon." Quickspan frowned, doorwings flicking in indignation. "And whatever you think, I would never do any harm to Prowl - that's the last thing I would want."

"You're Prowl's sparkling!" Bluestreak choked, interrupting. "The one he left behind."

Sideswipe stared first at his mate, then back at the newcomer. Could it be true? Prowl's sparkling was alive?

Quickspan, meanwhile, was nodding.

"No longer a sparkling, but yes: my understanding is that Prowl was my creator. We thought you had all perished centuries ago, but when we received word of the victory and that Optimus Prime had survived, I hoped I would finally be able to meet Prowl for myself. Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Sideswipe echoed numbly, finding the situation more than slightly surreal. "He practically adopted Bluestreak. You two are pretty much brothers!"

Bluestreak hugged the other mech tightly.

"You're alive, you're really alive! We heard you were dead, that you were all dead, and it just wasn't fair after everything that happened but everyone was so sure, but you're not, you're alive! And you've been upgraded and everything! Of course we were gone for ages so you wouldn't be a sparkling anymore but it's still incredible and I never thought you'd have a proper Praxian frame and everything. Was there a Praxian in the group of caretakers?"

"Don't worry about waiting for him to stop." Sideswipe advised, pinging his brother to get him to return.

If this turned ugly he wanted some backup to keep Bluestreak out of it.

"Does he always talk like this?"

"Only when he's really excited." Sideswipe answered, scrutinising him carefully.

Was it really possible this mech was who he claimed to be?

"How many of you sparklings escaped?" he asked casually.

"Twenty-three. Why, did you know one of the others?"

"Maybe. What was your identification glyph?"

"What are you doing?" Bluestreak frowned at him, letting Quickspan go.

"Just checking this mech's who he says he is."

Bluestreak's expression betrayed his sudden uncertainty, and Quickspan nodded slowly.

"Yes, that makes sense. Lets see, what can I tell you? Prowl was my creator, and Jazz was..."

"His mate, everyone knows that." Sideswipe finished for him quickly, his doubts subsiding.

If this mech knew that Jazz was his sparker then that probably meant he was not some Decepticon spy.

"And this was my ident glyph." Quickspan finished, sending it by comm.

"Is it right?" Bluestreak asked.

Sideswipe nodded.

"Yeah. It is. I guess he's telling the truth."

Bluestreak beamed, and Quickspan nodded towards the nearest clinic door.

"Perhaps, then, one of you could vouch for me to the chief medic and get me permission to at least see him?"

Bluestreak shook his head, the momentary joy lost again to worry.

"Jazz is the only one they've let in, and I don't think that's going to change. We asked, and Sideswipe's known Prowl longer than I have and everyone knows it, but he's not allowed in and neither am I. Jazz is his sparkmate and deserves to be with him, it's not like I mind that, but I wish they'd just tell us _something_ about what's going on... But now you turn up and I can't believe you're here. We thought for sure you'd been killed. Prowl's going to go crazy when he finds out! He'll probably glitch, but that's okay he does that sometimes when he gets a shock and this'll really be a shock because I know he thought you'd died."

"Blue, why don't you go and try just one more time?" Sideswipe suggested. "First Aid's on duty now, with Ratchet away, maybe he'll give in?"

"Okay, I'll try. I really want to see him, even just for a little bit. Wow, and I can't wait until he gets better and sees _you_. It'll be so exciting!"

He headed off, and Sideswipe looked at Quickspan appraisingly.

"What were you going to say about Jazz?"

"Jazz is my other creator. But from the way you cut me off, I suspect you already know that."

Sideswipe grimaced, and looked about quickly to check if anyone had overheard.

"Where the frag did you get that idea? Prowl split."

"No, he's a carrier. Circuitbreaker told me the truth. She thought they were dead, I guess she thought it didn't matter anymore. And you know this."

"I know Prowl better than just about anyone other than Jazz. But that's still secret: even Blue doesn't know."

Quickspan frowned.

"Some of the caretakers told us there used to be problems for carriers, that made sparks were considered unnatural, but surely he's important enough that it won't matter...?"

"Don't worry about why, just remember that no-one knows. And no-one's _supposed_ to know."

The roar of a fast-approaching engine made Quickspan turn around in surprise and Sideswipe smiled as his brother appeared from around the corner and transformed.

"What?" Sunstreaker demanded. "Who's this?"

"Sunny, this is Quickspan. Prowl's sparkling, all grown up."

Sunstreaker stared at the other mech intently, then huffed.

"I hope you told him not to call me that. I'd hate to have to beat up someone who's practically family."

"Uh..." Quickspan began uncertainly.

"Just smile and nod." Sideswipe advised, feeling better for having his twin there with him. "Worst he'll do to family is tear off a limb or two. Nothing serious."

/Is it really him?/ Sunstreaker asked.

/I think so./ Sideswipe confirmed. /Slag it all, couldn't he have gotten here a bit sooner? Prowl thought he was dead!/

/Prowl isn't going to die. He's too stubborn./

/I hope you're right, Sunny./

/I'm right. Besides, this'd be a slagging stupid way for it to end, right?/

Sunstreaker was certainly right about that.

"So." he spoke up. "Not a lot to do while we wait, so how about filling us in on what you've been up to? Last time I saw you you still only had a vocabulary of about ten words!"

* * *

Optimus knew Ratchet was sceptical that Alpha Trion could help; nevertheless the medic was also desperate for any clue to a solution and thus fully forthcoming on the details. He was downright macabre, in fact, but their host did not flinch at all.

The ancient mech listened patiently until he had heard everything Ratchet had to say, then shrugged casually.

"I don't know why you're so confused, it's really quite simple to understand. He's deactivating. His systems are shutting down."

"I know that." Ratchet growled. "But _why_?"

The older mech smiled kindly.

"Obviously because he's programmed that way."

"Who would program a mech to deactivate!"

"Well, me, actually. You don't need him anymore, so..."

"You set a suicide code?" Optimus frowned.

"That's not what this is." Ratchet rejected the idea. "Suicide codes just trigger an explosive - he'd've been gone in clicks. Besides, I would've found the charge during his checkups. This is coming from his base programming and that's just not possible."

"Why not?" Optimus asked.

"You can't make changes like that to an active mech's programming, even _with_ his consent. It can't be done, the self-preservation protocols lock it off."

"You'd be amazed to know what it's possible to do." Alpha Trion assured him. "But you're right, I couldn't have done this that way, which is why I had to do it before he was activated."

"You're Prowl's creator?" Elita interrupted, startled.

"Indeed." Alpha Trion nodded merrily, looking pleased with himself.

"Strange he's never mentioned that." Ratchet frowned.

"Oh he's programmed not to remember it." the old mech explained offhandedly. "His memory banks are incapable of retaining any identifying data about me in relation to himself. Couldn't have him recognising me, of course. Would raise too many questions."

"And you also programmed him to deactivate?" Optimus demanded, horrified.

"Of course. He is only a tool built to assist with the successful completion of the war. Now that the war is over, you no longer need him. It's simple."

"That's insane!" Ratchet fumed. "What were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ that we needed to get the Prime back to Cybertron." Alpha Trion told him archly. "Having him wandering around the galaxy like that was asking for trouble. Primes should stay on Cybertron and the only way to have that happen was for the war to end. But you Autobots were so ill-equipped I had to interfere. And it worked, eventually: the doom was averted."

"What doom?" Optimus demanded sharply.

"The doom of the Unmaker. The prophecy that was handed down to the Children of Primus: The moment the Primes fail, Unicron will be reawakened."

"That's ridiculous." Elita frowned. "Optimus isn't the first Prime. Others have died and the Unmaker has never returned."

"Other Primes died _on Cybertron_." Alpha Trion qualified, waggling a finger at her. "So long as the Matrix is either on Cybertron _or_ contained by a Prime, Unicron remains dormant. But if a Prime dies off planet, _even if he's immediately replaced_ , the doom will begin. Unicron will approach and the five-faces will return to annihilate us all."

"That's a myth." Ratchet spat.

"It is _fact_." the ancient mech snarled, then composed himself again. "If Megatron had simply been willing to remain confined to Cybertron there would have been no problem. But he wanted the Matrix so he could conquer the galaxy, so he could not be trusted with it. The Autobots had to win so that there would still be a Prime, but you were all such bumbling idiots. You needed military assistance. I sent Kup and Curveball and a dozen others who should have been enough, but still..."

"You didn't create Kup." Elita interrupted. "Ironhide knew him long before the war started."

"I didn't _build_ him. I just adjusted his programming a little so he would seek out the Autobot side of the conflict. It made no difference, though. There was too much distrust and I couldn't get to the ones you really needed on your side. Which is why I decided to build you what you needed. A battle tactician, totally loyal, scrupulously clean. Little more than a drone beyond that, granted, but..."

"Prowl is not a drone!" Ratchet objected.

Alpha Trion sighed.

"No, and more's the pity. A drone isn't creative enough to do what you needed, and don't think I didn't try. On the other hand he's no spark of Vector Sigma, either, so he doesn't carry Primus' blessing. He's a made spark, given very specific programming, and now his purpose is complete there's no need for him. Just like a mech with a core glitch - why allow him to carry on without a purpose?"

"He's _alive_." Optimus hissed.

"Not for much longer." the answer came dismissively. "Oh, I understand that you have seen him as an colleague. Perhaps even a friend, though how he could have managed to earn such loyalty with so little emotional pre-programming is beyond me. But he couldn't return those sentiments. His programming was all hand-coded, line after tedious line, to ensure he was precisely what was needed. A tool. He did his job and he did it well, but in the end he is still only a tool. And you, Optimus, you are Prime. And like your predecessors you will now remain on Cybertron and when you eventually die, as you eventually will because the Matrix burns through those who bear it, you will pass it on to another, and so it will continue forever. It's an honour and responsibility handed down by Primus himself."

He paused, then leaned forward to make his point.

"You cannot save him. It's no reflection on your skill, medic, it's simply his fate. His job is done and there's nothing more to do and so it's time he went away. Now lets give up on this depressing topic, let him die in peace and get on with what's really important: the interrupted celebration for the end of the war."

* * *

"Ratchet? Are you in here? Ratchet..." Wheeljack called into what appeared to be an empty room twelve levels above the main clinic, then wincing as he spotted the medic sitting alone on the balcony, surrounded by empty cubes. "Aw, Ratch."

"I can't save him, Jack." Ratchet slurred.

Wheeljack eased himself down amongst the clutter, staring out over Iacon's skyline.

"You'll find a way."

"Not this time."

"You're not a quitter, you'll..."

"No!" Ratchet shouted, then put his helm in his hands. "I can't do this. I can't _fix_ this."

His insistence was not at all normal. He was not seeking reassurance, this was something else.

"Why not? Talk me through it."

Ratchet groaned.

"You're an engineer, Jack. It's different for you. If a part's not working in one of your inventions you just replace it. But some parts in a mech can't just be replaced like that. Some parts make us who we are. Without them, we're no more than drones."

"Something's wrong in his central processor." Wheeljack guessed.

Ratchet grabbed another cube, taking a long swig from it.

"I suppose everyone's heard, now."

"No. No-one's heard anything. You and Elita One and Prime went in to talk to Alpha Trion, then you come storming out and disappear, and then Ironhide's gathering a security detail to escort old Trion to the brig. Prime's furious with him, apparently, but he's not talking about why and neither's Elita.

"I dunno what Trion's got to do with it, but the problem can't be Prowl's spark because he was fine beforehand and since I know you had to put him into deep stasis to keep him stable it makes sense that it's his CPU. But you've dealt with that before. I even helped you once, remember? Twistline lost some short term memory, but other than that he was fine."

"This is different."

"How?"

"Because the problem's not in his components, it's in his base coding."

He slung the cube to clatter into the pile, glowering sourly. His words had made no sense, and Wheeljack wondered whether Ratchet was simply too overcharged to know what he was saying.

"Well?" Ratchet grunted. "No comments?"

"I don't understand." he admitted hesitantly.

"This was programmed to happen, from before he was even activated." Ratchet told him dully.

"That's... that's horrific! Who would do that?"

"Alpha Trion, apparently."

"That doesn't make any sense. I didn't think Prowl had ever met Trion. He told us he hadn't when Optimus said he'd be doing the blessing. Didn't he?"

"Trion's his _creator_. The things he says he did... Jack, I thought I'd seen the worst any mech could do during this war, but Trion's even worse than Megatron in some ways. Prowl's emotica programming wasn't just glitched, it was never there at all. No wonder he had problems. It's a slagging miracle he managed to survive, let alone do everything he did."

"But he and Jazz..." Wheeljack began in shock.

"Oh Trion had plenty to say about _that_." Ratchet growled. "Claimed it was all in Jazz's imagination, that Prowl couldn't really have loved him back because he didn't have the programming for it. Said Prowl must've just been faking it all along. Said we should think about scrapping Jazz too if he was that glitchy."

"That's insane! It's not true. Prowl loved him, it was obvious."

"Was it? Jack, he had the programming of a _drone_! How the frag did we not notice that? How did he fool us? Are we really that stupid?"

"He had a spark, though. He split and created a sparkling!"

Ratchet flinched and glowered at the floor, saying nothing, and Wheeljack sat down beside him.

"I don't believe it wasn't real." he said after a moment. "Okay, so he didn't have the programming he should have. But programming's just part of a mech, it's not the whole of him. He _does_ love Jazz. And Jazz does love him back. Whatever handicaps Trion gave him, he turned out at least as normal as the rest of us. You've got to believe that."

"I don't know, Jack. I don't know what I know anymore. All I know is that I can't save Prowl, and Jazz won't go on without him. We're going to lose them both, it's just a matter of time, and there's nothing at all I can do about it."

* * *

First Aid put a staying hand on Thundercracker's shoulder, feeling the mech flinch as something crashed in Ratchet's office.

"Hold still, this wiring is delicate."

"Why's he so upset?"

"He doesn't like to fail." First Aid sighed. "And he's got rather a hangover from drinking himself into oblivion last night."

"Still no cure for your tactician? It doesn't make sense - we didn't have any weapons that powerful. Not even the plans for one."

"It wasn't a weapon. There was no attacker."

"Then what got him?"

"Can you hold your wing on this angle, please?" First Aid avoided the question, focusing on the work before him.

The Seeker obeyed without protest, and for a moment there was no sound but the buzzing of his tools and the periodic crash or thump as Ratchet took out his frustration on the furniture in his office.

"I heard a rumour the problem's in his processor." Thundercracker spoke up abruptly.

"Mm." First Aid responded noncommittally.

"He's a valt-split, right? They've always been glitchy. Megatron had one for awhile: fragger kept stalling until Star put him in a new frame."

First Aid raised his head.

"You mean he remodelled him?"

"No - put him in a new frame."

"Can't be done." he dismissed the idea. "Adult sparks fail if you try to transfer them."

"It can be done." Thundercracker persisted. "Star changed frames plenty of times while we were trined. Megatron mucked him up so much, it was the only way."

First Aid stared at him for a moment, trying to take in that concept, then shook his head.

"No, it still won't work. The problem's in his programming. Transferring his processor into a new frame won't make any difference at all, even if it didn't kill him in the attempt."

"So transfer his memory core and just give him a new processor." the Seeker shrugged. "That's how Soundwave created his symbiotes. Except me, at least."

That last mutter made First Aid look away. The trine connection, as he understood it, was similar to the gestalt link he shared with his brothers. It was not possible to be stable without it. But Thundercracker had no other options: there were only three other Seekers known to have survived, and they were already trined. It should have meant insanity followed by spark failure, but Soundwave had found a way of converting that link into a connection to himself in the same way as for his symbiotes. Thundercracker was no cassette, but he was now just as dependent on Soundwave as they were.

It was a fate First Aid did not envy him.

Turning his attention to Thundercracker's other comments, he continued to work as he considered.

At face value they were insane ideas. Millennia of medical research had proven that neither was a viable treatment option. And yet, what else was there to try? It would be dangerous, but could they afford to dismiss any possibility?

He would investigate a little more thoroughly before taking the idea to Ratchet to dismiss. Perhaps a talk with Soundwave was in order. And a search of the Decepticon databases for Starscream's research notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along, the final part of _Echoes_ fits here.


	102. Part 19: The end and the beginning, 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 19, chapter 5 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a little bit of corpse-squickiness here, but only a little

The room was silent now that the patient had been removed and Jazz sat alone in the ward staring at the empty berth, thinking.

Had it really only been three hundred vorns since he and Prowl had first met? No time at all. He had been active more than a millennium before the trouble started, had taken on the role and name of Meister well over two hundred vorns before the fall of Praxus, had served as an Autobot as long again before Prowl had arrived. And he was still considered young.

Three hundred vorns. Barely long enough to be considered competent in your job, in the pre-war world-that-was. Just long enough that you might get promoted. Might.

The war had changed a lot of things. Everything happened faster; time flew by so fast and so much changed so quickly that many blocked it all out. Looked for the patterns, ignored the details.

He sobbed. Prowl had always loved detail, had always been fixated on detail. Was that something else that his mentor had stolen from him, the ability to appreciate a broader span of time, knowing that he would not need it? If so, then Prowl had stolen that appreciation from Jazz in turn.

Three hundred vorns... the time in stasis did not count. It was such a short period of time, and yet it was everything. Jazz could barely recall what his life had been like before Prowl's arrival. It was all just a blur of boredom and disappointment and an ever more desperate search for excitement. Prowl had focused him. And he could no longer look forward to eternity as it yawned out in front of him, either. It was too big, too empty. Not that that mattered: he would only live for as long as Prowl did, the bond would see to that.

He shook his head in dismay. Prowl had been too young, too innocent for someone as jaded and sullied as he. They could have and should have waited. And yet, it had still been too short. He wanted more. Primus help him, they _deserved_ more.

Movement in the corridor made him leap to his pedes to find First Aid coming out of a storeroom with a folded plastic sheet.

"Aid? Is he...? Is...?"

The question would not come. Prowl was still alive: if he were not then Jazz would already be dead himself. But that was not the only concern.

"We don't know yet." First Aid told him, stepping forward to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. "The transfer went well with no complications that we can tell, but he's still in stasis."

"Can I see him?"

First Aid hesitated, then nodded reassuringly.

"We're just tidying up, but I suppose there's no reason you couldn't come now. I was going to come and get you in a breem anyway."

Jazz offlined his optics for a click, trying to ground himself. As much as he wanted to be with his lover, to see that he was alright, there was so much that could still go wrong and he was far from sure he was ready to face any of it if it did. And yet he couldn't bear to go back to that empty room again.

"What happens next?"

He had been told, but the information had not stayed with him. He had been unable to focus on much beyond the fact that there was a chance, and that they would have to take him away for the procedure. The details escaped him...

Thankfully First Aid was patient.

"We need to activate the new core processor. It will take a few moments to warm up and start functioning. The initial programming is only basic so as not to put too much pressure on at once, so he will be limited to binary-click. We've inserted the memory core from his old frame and made a small number of connections between that and the new processor, but it might take some time for him to activate those. Or they might never activate - each processor encodes memories in its own way, and his original processor setup was unique."

"If he can't access them, he'll be startin' over." he checked, dread settling into his frame. "He won't remember anythin' at all."

"But he'll still be alive. And perhaps in time..."

Jazz shook his head sharply.

"Tell me later, Aid. Lets just do this."

* * *

Jazz gasped softly as he entered the room and Ratchet grimaced. He had intended to have Prowl's old frame removed, or at least covered over, before bringing Jazz in. Too late now.

Jazz moved towards the other berth, the one where Prowl's greyed adult frame rested. First Aid tried to stop him but Ratchet waved the other medic away and busied himself with his tools to allow Jazz a moment of semi-privacy. He heard the soft rasp of fingers brushing against corroding metal and peripherally saw First Aid shudder in revulsion. A silence followed and he glanced up to check if Jazz was done, just in time to see the mech pressing a tender kiss to the once-white centre of Prowl's chevron.

The idea of kissing a corpse made his tanks churn, but he held his peace. He had known others to do similar things to farewell deceased sparkmates and it was not his place to judge. Jazz straightened, caressing the cold and hardened cheek one last time before turning away.

Ratchet nodded to him solemnly and gestured to his own lips. Jazz frowned, then looked in a nearby mirror and grimaced as he saw the flakes of powdered metal in his reflection, but he did not brush them away.

"Do it." he rasped.

"You're sure you don't want Bluestreak and the twins in here too?" Ratchet checked. "Or Quickspan? I hear he's still outside."

"No."

"Some support might help." First Aid persisted. "You don't have to do this alone. You didn't need to be alone for any of this..."

"No." Jazz repeated more firmly. "Just do it. Wake him up."

Ratchet nodded again, and the three of them converged on the second berth. The form there was considerably smaller; sparkling-sized and the pure silver-grey of protoform rather than the powdery hue of death. The nanites that would give him his colour were still mostly inactive, though there was already a hint of a darker sheen across his chest above the spark chamber.

A few adjustments to the monitoring equipment revoked the medical stasis, and a command sent directly to the CPU started the initialisation sequence, building the connections between processor and spark.

"Don't expect too much." Ratchet reminded the other two. "His vocabulary will be limited, and we only programmed in a few connections to the memory core to begin with."

Jazz was standing statue-still, no expression on his face, the necrotic dust still clinging to his lips and fingers. Sending one last prayer to Primus, Ratchet keyed in the unlocking sequence and stood back to watch.

There was nothing left to do but hope.

* * *

_Epilogue - 38 vorns later, office of the Prime_

The last report of the morning held good news. Vector Sigma was now producing new sparks at a rate that kept up with production of new frames and everyone was being strongly encouraged to act as mentors so that they could start to rebuild their numbers. The total population of survivors was a tiny fraction of the number who had once inhabited a single city before the war, but that would improve. It would just take time.

Restoring Vector Sigma had seemed an impossible task at first, but then assistance had come from an unexpected quarter. It turned out that Mirage had once been a priest, had in fact once been trained to assist the High Priest himself. He knew every ceremony, every tradition, every ritual, and he knew exactly how to reawaken the conduit to the Well of Allsparks. Moreover, he was entirely willing to put that knowledge to practical use and to return to the life he had once abandoned. A few others had questioned his right, given his desertion from the Towers, but he explained that he had never betrayed his training nor his faith and that he could in good conscience pick up from where he had left off.

All of these revelations had clearly startled Hound who found himself suddenly in the role of spark mate to the High Priest, having never before been particularly devout, but Mirage was confident in his role and soon gained the confidence of others, including that of some other priests who had survived as Neutrals, and a few newly converted to the calling.

Optimus had stopped being surprised by much at all about the time that Cliffjumper had announced his intention to forswear all violence and become a priest.

Setting the report aside he turned off his terminal and stretched, relieved that the morning's duties were over. He had once naively believed that things would become easier once the war ended. In fact he found he was busier than ever, and not at all helped by the loss of his ever-organised Second.

Ironhide insisted on helping and was no doubt doing his best, but he was a poor substitute.

"I think I'll go for a drive." he announced.

"There's just one more thing, Prime."

Optimus had started to rise from his chair, but taking in Ironhide's sober expression he sank down again.

"Bad news?"

The other mech looked troubled.

"Don't really know. They've found Jazz."

"Finally!" Optimus exclaimed. "Where was he?"

Ironhide grimaced, staring down at the notes on his datapad.

"Kaon. He had changed his designation, his frame, even his accent. Was going by the name 'Rimshot' and working in a refinery. Well. Working when he wasn't stealing raw mix from the vats and drugging himself with it. His supervisor reports he's the best they've got when he's sober, but they usually don't see him for more than about two decaorns in a row."

Optimus rose and paced over to the window to stare out across Iacon's skyline, thoughts whirling at the news that he had long since given up on hearing.

The former third in command had vanished without a trace only a few short decaorns after it was revealed that Prowl had lost all his memories and had no hope of ever regaining them. For all that his spark was that of an adult, Prowl would have to be raised as a newly activated sparkling, having no memories or experiences to draw on and needing time to assimilate his coding and work through his upgrades.

Jazz's departure had been a surprise but initially Optimus had thought that a perfectly reasonable reaction. He was certain he would not cope well if the same had happened to Elita, and had been conflicted by Ratchet's strident calls for the former ops mech to be found urgently.

" _Leave him be, Ratchet." he had counselled the frantic medic. "He's grieving, and no-one can't blame him for that."_

" _I can't leave it at that. He needs to be_ _ **here**_ _. Prowl needs him."_

" _Prowl was Jazz's lover, not his sparkling. Maybe once Prowl has gathered some knowledge and had some of his upgrades..."_

" _Prowl needs him_ _ **now**_ _. They... They're bonded."_

The revelation had been an unpleasant one and he had initially been furious. If one of them had died before the war ended the Autobot command chain could well have collapsed as suddenly as the Decepticon one eventually had. And the bonding had to have taken place during the war because Prowl had only been constructed halfway through it. How could they have been so foolish? Neither were stupid, why had they taken such an insane risk?

It had long seemed that he would probably never know the answer to why they had done it, nor when: Prowl did not remember, Ratchet did not know, and Jazz had been missing for over thirty vorns. Vanished without a trace. Not dead - he could not be that or Prowl would also have died - but not present. Yet now he had been found, still on Cybertron when Optimus had been convinced he must have left the planet long since.

Perhaps he would get his answers after all.

"If he has changed so much, can we be sure it's him?" he asked Ironhide.

"Ratchet says it is."

"Really?"

"He says to tell you Prowl found him."

Optimus turned sharply at that news.

"What was Prowl doing in Kaon? That area is not regulated yet."

"He did not say, simply that you should know Prowl found him."

He grunted.

"I'll have to speak to Ratchet about that. Are they on their way back here?"

"They should be, I sent a security detail to collect them. It's dangerous for Ratchet to be in Kaon without protection, let alone Prowl in his state."

"Not for Jazz?"

"He can take care of himself."

"Yes, I suppose he can." Optimus mused. "Let me know when they arrive - I'd like to speak to Jazz."

* * *

Ratchet arrived back the next orn, but alone. When asked, he simply handed over a letter and stomped out muttering about getting drunk. It was written plainly, with no introduction and without the accent markers Optimus had always associated with Jazz's style, but he had no doubt whatsoever who it was from.

 

_Boss, I know you're not pleased about any of this. Ratchet told me he told you about... well, that he told you. You know what I mean, so lets leave it at that._

_I didn't think they'd find me. Not this quick, anyway, and not like this. We never used it that way, but then I guess we never tried to. Most of the time we were trying to pretend like it wasn't there at all so we wouldn't get caught. Maybe it's normal for him to have found me halfway round the planet..._

_I should've gone further._

_I know you probably think I'm a coward for running like this. Ratchet does, he was plain enough with saying it. But I'm not going to apologise for what I did. You're not the ones with the mate who didn't even remember your name, who wasn't even mature enough to hold a proper conversation with. You're not the ones everyone kept staring at and whispering about._

_Fine. I'm a coward. Whatever._

_He's here now, and I don't think I can bear to run anymore. So I guess the only thing left is to face up to it. He's starting over which means we still have a whole lifetime to be together, it's just a different lifetime than the one I thought we'd have. When he matures enough to understand that. If he doesn't end up resenting the fact that he doesn't have a choice about being with me, that that choice was made by someone who should've known better the first time round and can't fix it now._

_The only hope I've got is that he always swore he fell for me before all that. I don't know if I can be that lucky again, but I've got to try. It's all I can do._

_It's strange. I used to wish I could fix some of what his mentor mucked up, give him the experiences he got cheated of by being forced to grow up too quick. I guess Primus was listening. Shows you should be real careful what you wish for._

_You don't need to worry about him: I'll look after him. I've done it before from when he was younger than this, and this time it's going to go right. I can see to that._

_I don't know when - or if - we'll ever come back to Iacon. Too many friends there, too many memories. He doesn't need the confusion, anyway. I'll find somewhere. Somewhere safer than Kaon._

_Wherever we go you won't find us, not unless I want you to. So don't bother coming looking._

_But don't worry. We'll be okay._

* * *

Soft pedefalls echoed through the room behind him and out onto the balcony beside him.

"I hear Ultra Magnus was here today."

"Bringing another request from Alpha Trion for an audience."

"And?"

"I have no desire to see him. I've told Magnus that before: he can rust away in that cell for all I care."

A slender hand rested on his forearm.

"He saved our lives, once."

"For his own purposes. And I cannot forgive what he did to Prowl. Not until he can see why it was wrong. At least Magnus has finally learned his lesson, though it took _him_ long enough. Trion still thinks he was right."

Fingers slid down to twine with his.

"Then why keep him at Iacon? Why not execute him? Or reprogram him, as Ratchet keeps asking?"

Optimus turned to face his mate.

"I swore that there would be no more killing now the war is done, that everyone's crimes would be forgiven. Bad enough that I'm still keeping him prisoner, it makes me a hypocrit. And I won't reprogram him - I won't stoop to that level. That makes me no better than him, after what he claims he did. Megatron reprogrammed mechs, and I disclaimed it. Trion was doing it in my name. I _won't_ go there."

"So then send him away." she suggested. "Exile him. Put him somewhere that he will be forgotten."

"No. I dare not: look what he did last time he was left to his own devices. I can't trust him to be alone, who knows what he will come up with. And if he must be here, I will have him nearby where I know he is not continuing with his mad plots."

Elita hugged him, resting her head against his chest as they looked out over the city scape.

"Do you think he really _is_ one of the Original Thirteen? A Child of Primus?"

"No." Optimus said firmly. "He's an old mech, certainly, but he cannot be that old. It's ridiculous."

"So you don't believe his story about Unicron?"

"Do you?" he asked, looking down at her.

She sighed.

"Chromia asked me how we can believe in Primus and at the same time not accept the existence of the Unmaker. I had no answer for her."

"I believe many things." Optimus mused. "But to believe that a single death occurring anywhere in the universe other than Cybertron could awaken the Devourer of Worlds? No. If he exists, he is either out there now wandering the stars, or in stasis as Primus left him. My death, whenever and wherever it occurs, won't change that."

"Well lets not take the chance. I'm not interested in other worlds anyway."

"Me neither." he agreed, kissing the top of her helm and guiding her back inside.

As he paused to shut the balcony door, she walked on.

"What's this?" she asked, and he turned to see her pick up the datapad he had been reading.

Jazz's letter. He held his peace while she read, moving to sit on the couch to wait until she raised her head to stare at him.

"This...!"

"I've rescinded the order to search for him. I have no doubt he can successfully elude us for as long as it suits him. The only reason Ratchet found him now was because of Prowl."

"Why did Ratchet leave Prowl with him?"

"He didn't say, but I don't blame him for that. Prowl may not know what he's been looking for, but he's never stopped searching since Jazz disappeared. What bothers me most is that I'm no longer sure I ever knew either of them at all. The secrets they kept... Neither of them were ever who I thought they were."

"Maybe that was how it had to be." Elita offered slowly. "Alpha Trion was wrong to do what he did, but without Prowl would we be where we are now? Without Prowl would Jazz have stayed after Curveball died? He was never comfortable with his rank. And if you had known Prowl was so young, you would never have allowed him to stay. Would you?"

Optimus shuttered his optics briefly. So much could have gone wrong. Change one tiny detail, and everything would have been different. Elita joined him, entwining his fingers with her own.

"Jazz kept Prowl safe for us long before we knew to worry. I think we can trust him now. They'll be okay."

A whole new lifetime, Jazz had said. A life of peace, something which the Prowl they had known had never experienced.

"They've earned this chance." he agreed. "And Primus willing, they'll have it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 19.
> 
> A/N: just the final scene remaining...


	103. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: scene continues directly from the Prelude, feel free to re-read :)

The lights clicked on and flooded the dark room with brightness.

"Enough of this." Prowl declared. "It's bad for you to brood the whole orn away. You've been upset ever since Ratchet gave you that thing, even before he left. What is it?"

Jazz sighed.

The mech whose memories the crystal held was gone. In truth, he was not sure he was the same 'Jazz' that he had been, either. Vorns of peace and grief had changed him. Perhaps he should consider changing his name again? He may have to in any case or Prime would drag him back to Iacon; the mech did so love to meddle.

Prowl moved around to stand in front of him, hands on his hips.

"Well? Everyone tells me it's juvenile to sulk, so why should you be left to?"

Jazz regarded his companion critically for a moment.

Prowl's pre-adult frame was a near-duplicate of his old adult one, and his spark was the same, but beyond that he shared very little with the mech Jazz had loved. His mannerisms and reactions were different, as were his motivations.

He had finally been given the proper set of emotional coding that any newly activated mech should have, not the limited range his previous incarnation had been exposed to. He had built on that with training and assistance from his mentors. Mostly Bluestreak and the twins, apparently, and that thought made Jazz ache as he remembered the same relationship in reverse such a short time before.

On the other hand, Ratchet had been unable to duplicate the complex valt-split processor without risking the kind of damage that all others with that technology inevitably suffered, so Prowl did not have the advanced tactical programming that had once been the core of him. The medics felt that that might be a large part of the reason he could not access his earlier memories.

Alpha Trion had offered to help, but that offer had been very firmly declined. One orn Jazz intended to visit that mech and have a little chat with him about his ideas. Not yet. He had had to leave Iacon so that Prowl would not sense him nearby and come looking for him, and now with Prowl at his side and dependent on him he could not afford the time. But it would keep, he could be patient. He would not forget and would never forgive. Eventually the right time would come.

Back in Iacon Prowl had been raised with other sparklings of a similar mental age, surrounded by friends who had once been colleagues and now took on roles as mentors and protectors. Bluestreak and the twins, now formally sparkmates and with a young sparkling of their own, had been his official caretakers, but others had helped too, fending off the overly curious who upset Prowl with their questions about things he did not remember and never could.

They would all be concerned when Ratchet returned home without Prowl, especially when they found out he had left him in Kaon. Not that Jazz had any intention of staying here with him: Kaon was not safe enough. Prowl had had to grow up fast the first time because of the circumstances, Jazz was _not_ going to allow that to happen this time. He deserved better than that.

Impulsively, Jazz made a decision. There were more differences than similarities and he was tired of dwelling in the past. He would not forget how Prowl had been, could never forget what they had experienced together, but he could not go on comparing that past with this present.

He squeezed, crushing the crystal, destroying it entirely and letting the powdered remains tinkle to the floor.

"Wait - wasn't that important?" Prowl asked, confused.

"Not anymore." Jazz told him, rising. "Come on, you're right. Enough broodin' an' sulkin'."

"You're sure that wasn't important?" Prowl asked, looking anxiously back at the mess. "Ratchet doesn't like anyone damaging his stuff. What was it, anyway?"

"A remembrance of a friend I lost, but I didn't need it. I remember him just fine."

"Would _I_ have liked him?" Prowl asked curiously, having met several of Jazz's new friends over the last few orns and thoroughly disapproving of most of them.

Jazz was startled into a rare laugh at the bizarre thought.

"Y'know, Sparkles, I'm really not sure. I'll tell ya about him sometime. When you're a bit older, maybe."

"Is it another war story?"

"Nah, this one's a love story."

" _You_ were in love?" Prowl asked dubiously.

"Yeah. Hard to believe, but I was."

"Did he love you back?"

The question blindsided him, surfacing memories of painful revelations on Syrenex: Ratchet's accusations that Prowl had never loved him freely, that it had been a result of the corruption of his spark. But that wasn't true, he told himself. Prowl had fallen for him before they had even kissed. So Prowl had always claimed, and had remained firm in that assertion right through Ratchet's pointed questioning after the extraction.

Which reminded him, he must do something about restoring contact with Quickspan at some point. Not for a few centuries yet, though. Primus alone knew how this new Prowl would react to meeting a mech he had co-created who was thousands of centuries older than his own memories.

Primus below but his life was complicated these orns!

"Jazz?" Prowl prompted him impatiently, bringing him back to the present. "Did he? Did he love you back?"

"Yeah." he responded softly. "Yeah, he did."

"Well that's okay then." Prowl nodded decisively. "I'll try not to get _too_ bored if you want to tell me."

"Very gracious of ya, Prowler, but I think this one can wait for a bit. We got plenty o'time for that. An' I gotta figure out how to tell it first."

"Then we've got time to go watch the barges down at the docks!" Prowl declared, brightening. "Come on, I'll race you!"

He took off on pede - still not yet upgraded with his first transformation cog - and Jazz chased after him, catching up easily and jogging along with him, pretending to fall slightly behind as they rounded the corner.

Everything would be okay. Prowl had another whole lifetime ahead of him, and this time they would do things right.

He would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.


End file.
